Regarding door posters & symbolism

I should have saved Anne’s sprite for today. Then I could just write a paragraph about how I want to finish the door signs this weekend and call it a night. Eh. Here’s a poem:

my hands hesitate on the keyboard
due to the plain and simple fact
that i am bored.
there, what do you make of that?
will you read into it?
will you try to organize my mind
like those poems writ
and copied, four-of-a-kind,
theme to theme, by narrator’s voice?
i am no poem.
that is my choice.
i was mad thinking i could show ‘em,
that i could pray in the Analysis Shrine
after a long trip in foreign lands
where the symbolic sun don’t shine.
i suppose i converted. looking at these hands,
you could tell.
there are no scars
where poems struggled against that fell
and murd’rous urge to extinguish stars.

I like the last five lines. A lot. I suppose the entire poem requires some context: I wrote this in “Writer’s Block Freewrites,” a Word document set aside especially for whining about writer’s block, or, more often than not, homework that I don’t want to do. Poetry responses fell into that category – I was asked to pick apart the week’s poem and read its entrails for symbolism. After having Mr. Scotese for a teacher, I’d lost my taste for that sort of activity, and this poem was the result of the inevitable clash of analysis styles.

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