by Anthony Desmond
(Center Line, MI, USA)

I've grown into a figure of distortion
Poetry rolls off tongue
Like boulders of immense proportion

I've grown tired of starving my body
Disregarding the sounds of my happy belly
To satisfy the devious voices of my "friends"

I've grown old,
Body young,
Mind ancient,
Spirit near death,
Heart has billions of beats left

I've grown cold
Bitter like citrus with a tangy after taste
Fear of letting guard down,
Big bad wolf gonna blow my house down
And use his sharp fangs
Until my mind is sold

I've grown up
No longer leaving toy guns on park benches
Ignoring the sounds of thieves
Invading my pretend trenches
Making myself an action
Meant for mass reaction

© 2010 Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.

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by: Bryan

Your poem ends with,to myself a hopeful clause of letting ego influence your woefulness...I think for most people ego gets a bad rap,without it you wouldn't have written this profound piece;)

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