A poem about a day of summer vacation. Take it as you will. There is no rhyme scheme, so don’t look for or expect one.
Wasted
It was the first day of summer
The air was dry and burning
Yet a soft wind blew ominously
As if suggesting some mischievous sin
It was that kind of day
Where you just pretend the world doesn’t exist
In a passive voice, a quiet voice
I suggested to myself something incredible
The plan reiterated in my mind
Its concepts began grasping,
Consuming every waking thought
It was childish to ponder its possibilities
Twenty four minutes thirty nine seconds passed
I sat in the same idle spot
The same thought still reiterating in my mind
The same ominous wind gently blowing
The same sun moving steadily across the sky.
It was nearly sundown
Yet I’ve done nothing in comparison to incredible
The day has passed
The day, wasted.
Jesse Storm (pen name)
Jesse Talks 