The abstract numbers that I, with no hesitation, attached to the sunrise and everything around me when I found myself once again conscious lying in bed, are telling me that my daughter, who goes by the abstract name of “Amanda”, is now a teenager. So what!... So what?, I guess there’s something objective in knowing that our planet has circled the sun (that shining thing) thirteen times since I started collecting memories of her, and that based on this fact I can make some predictions about what she will say or do… Yeah, that’s something… Anyway, Time: whatever you are, I hate you!

Mandy, happy birthday. I love you.


S'identifier Commentaires...
A.E. Sam
3 mois

I wish my dad wrote poems like that for me.

Robert L. Martin
Environ 5 ans

I'm glad somebody else besides me hates it.

Robert L. Martin
plus de 5 ans

Hi Yensey. I'm sure glad to read something that you wrote. I liked it very much. A nice birthday wish. Time: whatever you are, I hate you too,

Y. J. Hall
Y. J. Hall
Environ 5 ans

I wrote that a couple of years ago and the abominable time has turned that day into a memory. Time: whatever you are, Robert and I continue to hate you. :)

presque 5 ans

@Y. J. Hall: I like this poem, mostly because it's one I can understand. In general, I have made-up with time. I may not like the affects it had on my opportunities, circumstances, and looks: But mostly Old Man time has been good to me :) I can't complain.

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