Poem
This table, that cradles young dreams
bears heavily my stone filled head
drifting
“WAKE UP!” - sir’s white bristled top lip
arches in feline alertness
eyes stab
those blue daggers, old coffee breath
I wise crack, stirring up the pot
and, wait
the class erupts, chortling wildly
I feel naive validation
once prized
“pass forward your papers, to me”
my naked page floats timidly
through hands
the classroom is brushed with sun beams
falling into desktop etchings
long dug
a curly tail of wood springs free
engraved, the letters of my name
lie still
the school bell rung it’s last, days past
by now, sir’s lines must run deeper
- wake up …
© Darius the Mate 26-03-2022
Written for dVerse.
nicecissist 
This is gorgeously worded! I especially resonate with; “the classroom is brushed with sun beams falling into desktop etchings long dug.”❤️❤️
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I can really feel this… there was a time when I almost fell asleep at school…
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This is so real … I could reach out and touch it, listen to old coffeebreath, watch you carve. Bravo.
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Thank you ☺️ Helen
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Much deeper, I imagine, Darius! Such a rich memory…
❤
David
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🤩 thank you, my friend!
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