"I used to feel like California, with baby eyes so blue..."

I was reading through my bulging archive-folder today (which actually ripped twice during the session, so I may need a new one), trying to get myself in the mood to write. I don't think it's happening at this point tonight, though perhaps it will come right when I'm ready for bed. I think that full half of my poems have been written at least a half-hour after my bedtime. The other half, of course, being written in Metaphysics class, sophomore year.

In any case, everyone should really have a physical archive-folder/book.  It really is so fruitful to read through and see the two or three lines scribbled in the margins that never made it into poems. Sometimes it can respark the idea that you didn't have the wherewithall to do justice to years ago.  In today's case, the fruit was tangible. I found a poem that I don't think I've ever shared.  I would never have thought to look for it if I hadn't found the hard-copy, but Google Desktop found it in some hidden folder, a simple .txt called "Untitled". It would have been lost for good. Not that it is my favorite ever. It's from December of 2006, but I think that its theme fits the current season, so I'm posting it in lieu of original material tonight.

Here we go, a typical Shakespearean sonnet, as I was wont.  As a matter of fact, it is a more proper Shakespearean sonnet than most of mine, seeing as it makes use of the volta and uses the final couplet to wrap the whole thing up.  It is rather interesting, reading through my archive, to see how my style really has subtly changed over the years.  I didn't think that it had.

Untitled (On the Subject of Humility) - 12/10/2006

At times, when I admire the trees and ground,

Extend a hand to touch the present world,

I feel a separation so profound:

My soul transcends Persephone unfurled.

Although her scented breath emits delight,

Although her lips are pomegranate red,

My lips have felt the Angel's coal so bright:

I breathe the breath of God, and hers is dead.

But still! Remember, oh my soul, the breath

That Love Himself expired on that day

Was breathed into a form of earthen flesh.

Thus so we are: immortal and decay.

So, lest the humble ground you start to spurn,

Remember: unto dust you shall return.

"... now I feel like Carolina, I split myself in two."

-L