So Poetic At 16

cc licensed ( BY ) flickr photo shared by cogdogblog

Among the memorabilia curated by my Mom was something I wrote for the confirmation ceremony I did in (?) 10th grade as my last year of religious school. I was pretty much not tuned into the Hebrew School thing but stuck it out cause I thought it would please my folks (and maybe still feeling some of the expectation for the expenses of my Bar Mitzvah).

Anyhow, I have no context for why these words came out of me- some of just not feeling like nor wanting to, fit in, and also wanting something bigger in terms of an adventure in life. Maybe it is a way I wanted to be (and snuck “beer” can into the printed program). It is in imaginary character, sort of. Well, for what its not worth:

He was orphaned in his early years,
All the sadness and yet no tear,
Lonely days in an empty room
Didn’t know what to do.

He went away and didn’t come back
Never knowing just what he lacked.
Took off for a distant town
The middle of nowhere.

Grew up without a home. no home.
Thought he found it there, right there.
The middle of nowhere.

He’s a real big man.
Playing in a rock and roll band
Crushed a beer can with his hand.

Still looking for home
Still all alone.

He’s a real big man.
Playing in a rock and roll band
Crushed a beer can with his hand.

I’m so glad I got a home
Not too tight, with room to roam
Not always in the same place.

When he died, nobody knew
An unmarked grave under the blue
Left the world as he came in,
Still without a home.

He was a big man
Lying face down in the sand
Never found a home, middle of nowhere.

I’m so glad I got a home
Cause I’ll never be alone.

Woah, I best not read too much into the infertile mind at 16. I knew nothing.

Still learning.

And home? Interesting concept.

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An early 90s builder of the web and blogging Alan Levine barks at CogDogBlog.com on web storytelling (#ds106 #4life), photography, bending WordPress, and serendipity in the infinite internet river. He thinks it's weird to write about himself in the third person.


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