tales of people i used to know...


So there's about three hours then?
I don't want to see you, Krafty,
for I know that when I look in your eyes
I will see fear.

And hate, and disgust,
Everything you try to keep a lid on
Yet the steam escapes anyway,
And the pot is shaking fiercely.

Not a word
Quiet as a pin-drop in hell
That's what the "golf thing"
could have been,
It could be a marker

To some unknown world
Where this chasm within my stomach
Is stitched, blanketed over
So I can't get lost and hit by the pain.

You can't look up,
So just admire the blades of grass,
Flattened in a mere moment
Remaining, on the soles for later.

So her sole is broken.
I could be a mender of bad souls
If only that one needed fixing.
But people cannot be what they are not

Without some degree of discomfort,
Opposing head-masters
Dictating their views
Expecting you to follow them
Like some stranded sheep
About to fall into quicksand.

Just let me walk away.

Poetry by Caila Ihle
Read 623 times
Written on 2006-10-08 at 04:55

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Zachary P. B.
wow...i don't know how i missed this one...

i totally connect with this, and the wording is so grandeur (not in an over-snobbish way, in a perfect writing style way)

"so her sole is broken
i could be a mender of souls.
if only that one needed fixing..."

wow wow wow

caila magic indeed,

Amanda K
A sad one,indeed. You expressed it well.

You became unique and not a piece of the line. Magnificent!!!