posted on Jul, 4 2010 @ 02:09 AM
Post up some prose poetry guys!
I can sit here all night.
I dare it to myself in a way. Sit here and beat the wind. Who beats the wind though?
The wind always feels good when it blows past me, dragging pieces of me with it. Pieces I’ll always remember. The pretty girl who talked to me, the
books she would read to me.
But who needs to move anyhow? I stay here and the people I get to know take what they will from me. I’ll always be here for them to come back to.
I’m tough, see, steady and reliable.
That wind feels good though. Letting it blow over me, move through me. I lose myself in it all sometimes. The moon-shine and stars above me and the
warm body of the Earth below me. It’s enough to make you think about what you’re doing here. Why do you get to experience things like this; why
don’t you notice it half the time?
I remember when I was growing up and the night used to scare me. Hell, anything scared me before I toughened up. Now I look around at the darkness
and count myself lucky just to be some small part of it all.
The night air changes at some point, you can smell it. Dew is born and you know that the dawn can’t be long behind.
Crummy wind, I get wet and it gets cold. Figures.
I sit here every night.