Staircase at Fifteen
Ascending, her centrifugal
influence captures me
and I follow,
breathless,
witless, wordless,
despite all longing
and shared
discretions, despite
the thundering
pulse
and the incessant
demand to act
or run.
She pauses, looks
down, sees
nothing.
Suddenly freed,
spinning off
and slowing down,
shrinking,
far below, on equal
footing but so
apart,
never to meet
in truth, unable
to define direction or
motive, I remain
fixed as she moves
higher, far away, close
but up,
always up.
O at the Edges 
Hi I am a poet and I write short stories please read my blog and like if you will I also follow your blog nice work
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I will be sure to visit. By the way, I found your reply in my spam folder. I’m not sure why it went there, but thought you should know.
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Oh! Perfect!
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Oh, adolescence!
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Incredible, Robert.
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Thank you, Kelly. Those were interesting times.
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And what a way to capture them! š
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My God, can poetry actually be this good!? The last time I got this excited over writing it was the first time I read Kinkakuji by Mishima…while sitting on a bench right across the pond from the actual temple! ęøćč¾¼ćæć®ćć¹ćæć¼ļ¼
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I am honored, Daniel. Thank you.
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lovely. those were the days, my friend.
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Those were indeed the days, but I would not care to relive them.
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indeed.
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There was a time when I wondered, “Was I ever there, myself?” Perhaps, but only someone “outside” could have said.
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I seemed to flash between invisible and too noticeable. Nowadays, I’m content to merely live my days. š
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love this one–took me back to early high school feelings…
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Those days were full of drama and high emotion. Up and down, up and down, not much felt level.
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*WARNING* Reading this poem may result in ill-advised Facebook searches, “just to see what s/he’s up to…”
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Ha!
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Captivating start …. “Ascending, her centrifugal influence captures me”
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Oh, those things we cannot control!
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