This Poem was Submitted By: Nancy L. Dymond On Date: 2001-04-14 13:55:23 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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SING, KING FEELING

I'm on a desert island    with my mother in a storm,    The island is rocking and jerking because       it's on the edge of a great whirlpool  in the sea. My mother won't stop the storm. She likes to imagine what it would be like to be plucked off the edge of the island and sucked down into the wild black center of the whirlpool (but not really). She doesn't want to die. She only wants to live the fantasy. Vicariously. So she allows the storm to rage. We have no furniture left.  No dishes. No pictures on the wall. No coffeepot. She threw them all into the whirlpool and watched as they were carried   gently swirling... Round and round.   Into oblivion. At the bottom of the Sea. Now all that's left is the house. And me.

Copyright © April 2001 Nancy L. Dymond


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