A Poem

My artist(who is turning 13 tomorrow) wrote this poem for school and I just had to share it.


9:00
It is dusk,
peaceful,
silent.
No sound, but a light, nimble, ever so quiet tip... tip... tip.
Without light it is an unknown object, an undiscovered species.
My eyes strain as I search for better light, waiting to be unearthed,
becoming more distraught as I’m sucked through the black hole of my basement.
I find it, relief spreads through me like a deafening sound falling silent.
Night turns to day in the room underground
The noise of which I wonder is a needle at work, my mother’s hand to fabric, and foot to pedal
of her sewing machine.
To my right flickers an object. A rectangle of beautiful colors catches my eye.
This is my motivation, my moment, now I work on my square of colors
I have only just started.
3 patches done working for the what only seems like 5 minutes.
It’s more
As I spot the clock, I come to find an hour has vanished as well as each second ticking by as time takes its turn.
I frown at little work that has been done, and feel ashamed, foolish.
I feel as though I could work forever, though I know my time is limited.
Soon I shall be brought down by drowsiness.
Each blink delayed as I settle in darkness, each yawn gains more strength.
Realization of reality hits me.
The nickname this room has given itself stays true to its word.
Keeping its forever regretful promise.
The time vortex.

Wasn't that awesome. We do call the basement aka my sewing room the time vortex because whenever we go down there time just disappears. Even my girls friends call it that now.hahaha