Practice in Four Parts
#15 of Poetry c.2019
A poem about want.
Practice in Four Parts
Can I ever truly be
the simplest kind of free?
I am envious of my father,
who must see me as a bother.
I always really loved to draw,
to bring all my thoughts of awe,
and give them all a proper sense,
as my own form of recompence.
That feels so long ago,
back when I worshipped Poe;
I loved his eye for dread,
and every little thing he said.
I am stretched far too thin,
to think of way back when;
but here I am thinking still,
where my might becomes my will.