Dead Week
·
In the middle of finding myself,
I take a step back,
The breeze hurts and makes me wonder,
Disjointed moments pluck asunder,
The headphones blare out silence,
But did anyone ever need me around?
Was it a sound that no one made?
A glimmer of hope when the Sun went for shade
The bike turns quietly screeching at brakes,
The pedestrians know better,
But walking downhill when the wheel was there,
Doesn’t make sense, like meaning everywhere,
Understood by a few but critiqued by many,
This seems like a chance to take a lucky penny,
But in dead week, where little else walks,
Why lock yourself out when the day ahead knocks?
Reaching the stand and standing by,
A little movement as time goes to fly,
Would this coffee be an antidote?
Flashes of when a skateboard goes rogue,
I don’t want to leave or stay,
Can I be 31 and wait for May?
The leaves taunt, they know something I don’t,
They wither away, as is their wont,
But dropbox serves its purpose,
I didn’t need to bike away,
Does it really care that I came all this way?
Gaping at an assignment swallowing time,
And effort, which is it first or does it matter?
The walk back is punctuated by stairs,
I wonder what made itself scarce,
The shadows fight in the corner for rain,
The Sun billows howling again,
They are glad, the grass smells greener,
The breeze comes back, it has seen her,
A welcome note and a step away,
A pretty girl an arm’s length away,
Gushing sunlight and the vivid noise,
The sound of calm in eerie poise,
Is it enough to turn the volume up?
Or does it drown out enough of you?
Would it make sense to answer them now?
Or does it stir within you?
Never mind, the dead week await,
Questions can be saved until later,
Would you be the same had you met her?
These are trivial, a story untold,
A questionable choice, a future foretold,
But it’s the dead week, its time to study,
But where is my concentration? Why is life not sturdy?
Bouncing against the uncertain cold,
The chill reminds,
Memories abound but the conscience finds,
The sprinklers come on, has it been this long?
Time flies when you hum on by
But have never heard the song,
Were you led astray in your time here?
The keys slip past,
The concrete glistens,
You only wish someone listens,
But the next photo await the eager
The next class, the next great thriller,
A carousel that ceases to stop,
A melancholy that grows in part,
Is it worth its while to take a step back,
But did it feel like a haystack?
The confusion stems from the Sun and the breeze
They play games and you are in need
Come back home, the dead week won’t wait
As you ride slowly back,
Only some remain seated,
Some stand and wait for their chance,
Others realize its not worth a glance,
Some stop and take a click,
In memory this will be,
The dead week stands testament to walls
And pyramids alike,
The walking finally get their due
A fiction that turns ever so true
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