I can't sing America
A land so close it's out of focus
Always a dream,
Always someone else's,
The edge of a blanket partly before my eyes.
I can never hear what is underneath the myriad muffling folds,
Only feel what is pocketed in mine.
I've sung soprano, tenor, alto (not quite bass)
I thought I was a composer?
I've sung so many parts
I should be able to sing my own.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Awesome. Those last few lines were so cool (though I liked it all). You had some great figurative language throughout, making this a nice read. You even made me think. Scary.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, you'll sing. But I think that when someone sings America, they shouldn't always sing alone.
Once again, cool poem!