Oh, I miss those days,
when all that mattered
was the next class —
carrying a bulky book,
and caressing with a love
that none understood.
*
I miss that thrill —
of having the book open,
of reading a piece of prose —
or a poem — yes,
I’d like that — a poem.
*
A war poem, perhaps,
with a touch of sarcasm
and plenty pathos
oh, I’d love that; reading
analyzing, and discussing
the figures of speech and
reading between the lines —
decoding puzzling poetry.
*
I miss being awed
by the ceaseless Caesar,
and Brutus back stabbing;
the hair that be wires;
and the stunned disbelief
when love’s not love.
*
I miss those days —
of classroom revelations,
of shared appreciations
and new born respect —
oh, for god’s sake,
I meant for literature.
The Chaos Within 