The Quiet

A/N This poem is sort of supposed to be read... leisurely.


I've talked and read and listened,
And now I'm just going to think,
And watch the gray rode pass by below...

My fingers hold the notebook up,
And beyond them the jean skirt sprawls
With my legs beneath stretched along the backseat.

Across from me the oblong window shows
The trees, some green, some brown, all a mess-
They make me dizzy passing by so quick...

Constent trembles shake my pencil,
But that's ok. Everyone has a little mess in his life.
Should I not be the same?

And the rumble-roar nearly drowns out
The quiet disagreeing murmuring from the front-
My Ma and Daddy are talking.

My feet cross.
The funny toes sticking out at odd angles;
The felt seat weighed down a bit beneath.

Silently I wish the sun would find a cloud,
Or, really, the other way around,
Or maybe we could put the air conditioner to use...

But the sun warms my face and hair,
Calling me to give in and rest,
Calling me to let my eyes droop...

Idly, my mind wanders here and there;
I wonder if I should fight the dream's whispers...,
But the pencil's getting heavier..., so I reluctantly aquiesce....