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CLOSE / Parnassiad


Peace and Other Stories


Fragments of a Formerly Active Sex Life



I Write
by Gregory Wilde  /  poetry  /  22 Oct 2007

I write because I feel,
All these senses,
Imagination to fill,
A baseball stadium,

But all this leaves me alone,
I've wasted a lot of time,
Waiting for her to come,
When the rain smells so warm,

I remember Berkeley,
The cold and the English Breakfast Tea,
And the parked cars on the hills,
Being in the fog on a bridge,

And in my dreams,
While I slept alone,
I thought about getting out,
But then I sat and wrote,

And do you know what it feels like,
Walking to keep from crying?
Holding glass too close,
Almost letting go?

All I wanted,
Was someone close,
A person to talk to,
Someone to hold onto,

I've cried and I've begged,
I've stolen water,
And I've asked for change,
Have you seen me lately?

I met my sister,
For the first time,
When I turned seventeen,
Can you tell me what I used to be before she came?

Because I can't remember,
The me I used to be,
I'm being honest now,
What do you remember about me?

I write because I feel,
And if you can't come with me,
Then I'll show you my world,
Because you can't get flowers without the rain.

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