Poem

I used to write poetry all the time, but its been a long time since I tried my hand at it. A couple of weeks ago I bought this teeny tiny notebook when Tracy and I were wandering about downtown. The other day I took it with me when I went to eat my lunch at work. Maybe it was because such a tiny notebook seemed the right size for poetry, or maybe it was my general moodiness of late, but a poem just kind of appeared. Strangely enough I hardly ever write poetry that rhymes, especially serious ones, but this one just kind of came out that way. Anyhow, since my Mom and John are always asking if I've written any new poems I thought I'd post it.

Stir
Dripping and slipping, sliding away,
The failing of light at the end of the day.
Stark scattered snow and skeleton trees,
An echo of mountains on the frigid tight breeze.
Unstructured longings and half-informed dreams,
Stir. Nagging for life at my raveling seams.