Stop swinging on that chair!
Daydream painting spilt, you glare.
Twins separated by millenniums.
Suspended on my junior chair
My finger barely touched the desk.
The classroom window framed
A silent, untold world
Floating through florescent lights
Reflections in a thunderous sky.
Only when my skull hit the floor,
Did I finally hear the classroom roar.
Feel the bloody red-orange paint tear
Down my matter-of-fact paper face.
Truth ~ a red rag smearing every last trace.
Like Frost on his childhood birches,
I wish I could let you carry on swinging.
I don’t know what makes me feel more angry ~
Knowing the pain,
Or watching, helplessly, as you hear
The roar of the world over and over again.