02-22-2015, 02:07 AM
I couldn't pass up the opportunity to get some extra credit in my Early American Literature class, and typed this little ditty up during lunch before the class. But I actually kinda like the idea, and want to turn it into something better. Obviously the poem has a few references to Leaves of Grass. I'm actually envisioning something much longer and fuller here, but so far... opinions?
I force myself through mindless, noisy halls.
I trudge on carpets made from God-knows-what.
I push a door, and find but four more walls;
I turn around, and leave as it swings shut.
I pass a hundred faces, meeting none...
their eyes are emptier than I had guessed.
I study them, but not a single one
is different than any of the rest.
They feed on specters, like the poet warned,
and waste their lifetimes weeding through the past.
Oh, how old wrinkled Walter would have mourned
to see the state of what he sang so vast.
But never-mind, I turn to paths not trod.
I leave the rest behind, decided now
to walk un-walled, unhindered by façade,
as one whose knees have never bent to bow.
I force myself through mindless, noisy halls.
I trudge on carpets made from God-knows-what.
I push a door, and find but four more walls;
I turn around, and leave as it swings shut.
I pass a hundred faces, meeting none...
their eyes are emptier than I had guessed.
I study them, but not a single one
is different than any of the rest.
They feed on specters, like the poet warned,
and waste their lifetimes weeding through the past.
Oh, how old wrinkled Walter would have mourned
to see the state of what he sang so vast.
But never-mind, I turn to paths not trod.
I leave the rest behind, decided now
to walk un-walled, unhindered by façade,
as one whose knees have never bent to bow.
