My feet feel the warmth of my dream's promised land
Of white sand
And my gaze traced the curve of never ending gold,
Where the cold
Blue waves brush gently against it. I lift my face,
And with grace,
The wind caressed my cheeks and danced, without a care,
Through my hair.
I was there, by myself, and all I could hear
Was the clear
Voice of God and the wind and the sun and water
In laughter.
As Seattle's cold wind freezes my hands and feet,
My heartbeat
Longs for the rhythm of gurgling waves that crashes
Gold ashes
That peacefully lie in the sun's warm embrace;
The wind plays
With my hair instead of frosting it with ice,
And the nice
Gentle breeze brings laughter back to my voice
I rejoice
At the sight of my paradise, not just a poem.
I'll be home.
Tirza Magdiel, March 23, 2008
This is the mimic poem I wrote for my Brit Lit II class. It took me a whole century to get started with it. I didn't know what to write on. But amidst the coldness of Seattle March, I started thinking of this summer, when I get to go home. I picture myself, lying on the warm sand of Bali, and I knew exactly what I'm going to write on. I can't wait to go home and feel real sun again!
