Griffin Smith
Distant classrooms
and long passwords
reside inside the tide
of my mind.
Thoughts on Saturn,
Heads on backward.
Thinking of patterns.
Is it dead?
Drive for success
while I’m depressed.
I must confess,
I miss the dread.
I miss the long lectures
and wild conjectures
about science and checkers.
Now I feel sadness instead.
I won’t let it die.
That raging fire inside.
A burning desire
to be something else.
They question my intellect
and slight my return
to the fiery pit of knowledge,
where I know I belong.
In memoriam
to the ones who doubted me.