All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
"Sat here in pity's icy rocking chair..."
Sat here in pity’s icy rocking-chair,
I’ll mumble vaguely in the desperate hope
That some disparate syllable will air
The dusty, creaking, treasure chest which though
Tired and bruised has nonetheless held fast
The graceless smog to which I owe so much.
Lost in the throes of our urban romance
We’d think out loud, then weep, then giggle: Such
Was our genius; in each other we found
A poet, to whom the birds could never sing
Loudly enough, or who had never found
A cause to walk, when with sweet youth running
Seemed so much quicker; and as an added plus
Rendered one out of breath, so what was left
To do but clutch your lover’s arms and fuss
Over their wants? With every wheezing breath
I recall a little more; Your hair was red
The color of the dying evening sun.
We’d try to paint it, not a word was said
As each was lost in their own world; the fun
Lay naturally in showing off one’s work.
We’d brag and comment ambiguously
And laugh, and tease, and kiss, and dream, and flirt:
Giggling and high, each refused to see
How far in love the other’d fallen, though
Whether or not this was meant to preserve
Our own sense of luck, we did not know
Nor did we need to know; beauty had served
So well’n truth’s stead we didn’t think to change:
Nei’er boredom nor imagination sharp
Could prompt an angel to adapt her ways.
And so you kept your wings, and to the lark
Composed your tune; for we were Gods back then.
Waiting by the playground’s iron gates
You’d grab my arm, hiss at me to listen
As you explained to me my ‘ventual fate:
I was to be an rebel, by my side
Would stay a dreamer, faithful to the end
A log cabin we would build, and there inside
We’d paint the walls with jokes, and as we went
About our day, we’d chuckle here and there
To remind each other that the world still spun.
Not even the summer’s eve’ dared to deign
To interrupt your whispered prediction.
Under the slide, your face stained dark from shade
Your eyes stood out; two chocolate marble pools.
I told as much, and the stars ‘bove seemed to fade
As I was r’warded with a smile, so too
Did the velvet undergrowth delight
And spied as your lips sought to smother mine
In a less perfect world it would be bright
Here ‘twas dim as clouds obscured th’ divine.
I’ll think on this as I sit here alone
Leaking life, watching the world pass by.
I’ll hear the wind, whistling as it blows
Through the park trees on that star-strewn night.
I do not trust in anything above
But for one red-haired angel in the sky.
Our summer deserves more than tears, my love,
For you, for us; I promise not to cry.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 4 comments.
I feel that although it is very clearly about love, there is throughout the whole thing a feeling that perhaps the poet has made the whole story up to keep himself amused in his lonesome old age, or the whole thing could be a metaphor for a single event which he felt very strongly about, strongly enough to create different images to give the thing some depth.