Saturday, June 20, 2015


I sit in the back of the room.

Does she notice me?

Her words flutter, her voice is soft.

Her features are like the strokes on an artists canvas.

Shall I have my moment?

Shall I have my victory?

Then, the day comes.  Perhaps she will take notice.

Perhaps she will see my heart, perhaps she will breath my passion.

And I begin reading, "Friendly friends.

I am a friend to those who are friendly,
I wonder about those who arent,
I hear excitement all around me,
I see people laughing,
I want to join them,
I am a friend to those who are friendly.

I pretend there is no darkness in life,
I feel freedom,
I touch the flower that stands alone,
I worry about that flower,
I cry for the people who are like this flower,
I am a friend to those who are friendly.

I understand what gossip does to people,
I say the truth about others,
I dream of a peaceful world,
I try to melt my sorrow,
I hope I make others feel better,
I am a friend to those who are friendly."

As my poem completes, I gaze out to see her smiling face, amd I return to my place in life.

The bell rings and I patiently wait.

What shall I say?

How do I utter a single word?

But I am paralyzed.

Then, he approaches.  The smooth senior, the talented athlete, the muscular man.

The world freezes as he says hello, and they laugh.  She beams to life.

I sink back, stepping away from it all.

And as my body hits the walls of the long corridors, I miraculously move straight through the building walls.

Have I defied the laws of physics?

And then it hits me.  The car that struck me when I was only ten years old.

I was so alone, and so afraid, I walked in the middle of the road purposefully.

I was done with my life.  Too much pain.

No policeman to save me, to send me back home.

And the memory fades, leaving me to ask, "What shall I do?"

And then, I see her smile again and I think, "What can I do?  For I am but be a ghost."

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
October 2014

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