When I was young, I wanted to be a poet. I wrote a lot of very bad poetry during my teenage years.
It’s been a long time since I made poetry a habit. Still, I generally jot a few lines every year, and then forget about them. Sometimes — like tonight — I’ll stumble upon something I’ve written and think, “Wow. That’s actually pretty good.”
The poem I found tonight was this untitled bit, which is dated 11 September 2001:
In the twilight
the colors bleed and fade —
what once was red, or blue, or green,
is now black. Or white.
The approaching darkness
casts long shadows, cloaking
all that once danced in light,
consuming warmth, producing fright.
I like this because it works on multiple levels. Superficially, it is evocative of dusk. Symbolically, it represents the tone of that time: the aura of approaching gloom.
On the other hand, maybe it’s just as sophomoric as all the other poetry I’ve ever written…