thinking about my parent's poets

funny how i write
in bursts of sharp emotion

grew up listening to 
stilted poems written by 
a guy that's now dead
who reminisced about being young 

and now i speak poetry, 
so different from the version
that my parents absorbed

i first discovered this new wonder
of my generation's take on something dying
on a cold afternoon, and i fell for it

i fell in love with the wonder of it, 
how new it seemed, 
the beauty in words cycled through a person's brain

and i was captivated, 
held as a willing prisoner
and i'm not sure i ever want to be let go. 

The End

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