Poetry

Megan had to write a poem for her English class, she read it to me on the way home from Ariel's birthday weekend. I was very impressed...I loved it and thought I would share it:

“There was a Child went Forth”

There was a child went forth every day;

And the first object she look’d upon, that object she became;

And that object became part of her for the day, or a certain part of

The day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

The desert breeze became part of this child

And cacti, and blazing temperatures, and pine and palm trees,

And the twinkling city lights,

And the strolls by the pond, skipping rocks into the green murky water,

And the quick jack rabbits, and venomous snakes,

And the dry earth and the rare desert storms,

Quick and sparse, and the spectacular lightning, and the fresh scent,

And the hot miserable summers stretching on forever,

And the cold dry winters passing too soon—all became a part of her.

And the blooming purple flowers that never stayed long became a part of her.

The day the two towers fell, ash descending over the city,

And fear throughout the country,

And the faith was shaken, but not broken,

And the stars and stripes waving proud,

And the magnificent fireworks in the seventh-month,

And the long days in the car, and the places she’s seen,

And the ocean breeze and mountain air,

And the wildwood flowers growing by the babbling creek,

And the sand between her toes and sun on her face,

And all the faces and sights wherever she went.

Her own parents.

He that had father’d her, and she that had conceiv’d her in her womb, and bitrh’d her,

They gave this child more of themselves than that;

They gave her afterward everyday—they became part of her.

The mother at home, waiting for the family to return;

The mother with caring demeanor—always there with words of advice;

The father, strong, hard-working, patient, loving;

The protected sense, the bellowing laugh, the witty humor,

The family values, beliefs, the friends and siblings, the savory scents in the evenings,

The suffering of the family; helpless as a loved one slowly weakens,

The strength it took to pull through.

Music that was played in her youth—the melody constantly dancing through her head,

And the rhythm pulsing through her body.

The heat of day-time and comfort of night-time—soft and secure.

Whether everything was how it seemed, or was it all just pretend?

People constantly on the move—always in a hurry to their next destination,

The burning black top, sidewalk chalk, and racing bikes,

Bumper to bumper traffic, never moving—the never ending freeways,

The city in the desert, seen from afar at dusk—the space between,

Dazzling flashes of light, sin, and crime day and night,

The homeless on the corners, losing hope—offering everything they can give for something to taste.

The non-stop movement, everything around blurring, never tiring,

The feeling of wanting to slow down, as time slips away never to return—the clock always moving,

The setting sunshine, slowly fading into darkness, leaving nothing but a few sparkling stars;

These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

-Megan Hendrix

9/12/11