Walking The Plank
"How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?" - Dr. Seuss Dear Eighteen, Lately I’ve been wondering who will be there to take my place, a year- a few years from now, to write me this sonnet of what life has to offer. Trust me, the next year of your life is going to be like a screenplay you’d half expect to be adapted from one of those movies or plays you so endearingly loved. I promise you this- you’ll never want to love melancholy again. Then again, you’ve never been one for poetry of the faint-hearted. You’ve never been one for the eye of the storm. You’re human. And that entitles you to hurricanes and stormy seas, war-torn mind palaces, the survivor’s guilt that comes with surviving. Currents of despair, bullets…and bullet points, roller coasters that can’t stop…won’t stop. The wheels will keep turning, the waves wil