In which Your Humble Blogger beats you over the head with a metaphor for freedom:
"Our Children" [I just want to interject here and say that it's a lame title that gets slapped onto a piece when nothing else comes to mind]
We build our fences and keep them vigilantly.
We allow our children to do somersaults inside them.
Yet we can't be surprised if, through the chain links,
Our children see others doing cartwheels and wish to try.
Love allows for the discovery of broader frontiers.
Trust becomes the greatest showing of patriotism.
* * *
Ladies and gentlemen, with all of the subtlety of your local fireworks display, here's the poem I wrote for the Fourth of July! Seriously, even if I really do believe the sentiments expressed in the last two lines, there has to be a better way to express them than through something as maudlin as this. I knew it wasn't the best when I wrote it, but some days, you just have to force yourself to write something.
You know what I feel like sometimes as I go through my notebook? This. And it's only been a year. I'm telling myself it's a sign of growth, even as I flip through certain sections of the book and cringe.
Oh, one day, I will teach you what maudlin truly is, by example, naturally, in the form of mine own terrible attempts at poetry. One day.
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