(POETRY) The catcher in the rye


A yearning memorial 
A foolish desire 
Yet ever so real
For her by the fire

I made it so clear
We were not to be
Yet now I look back
Stupidity- I see

She made it so hard
A girl with much vim
She did what she wanted
A hedge without trim

She wrote me at night
I danced with the words
Embraced them with passion
Sweetest I’d heard

I made her so safe
Cold embrace in this land
She reached for the stars
and I gave her my hand

We sat in the theatre
We shared in our warm
Yet later that evening
I sent her the storm

We fought about things
Material triviality 
I rose up the hammer 
She attacked with vitality

But the issue at hand
At least present for me
Does innocence play out
As innocence seems

I heard of the news
She told me that night
She’d been with a suitor
It couldn’t be right

Notions of innocence 
My childish mind 
A breach of impurity 
Immaturity defined

I handled it wrong
I threw out a fit 
The most grievous words
I ever did writ 

I tossed down my pencil
The world seemed so fucked
And now I bereave it 
An existence so mucked

An action so normal
That she was with he
But all I interpret
That he was not me

A curse of self-ness
A torture so sour
Alone in this cavern
Inhabitants dour 

All so I’d paint
A worldly imagination 
People so agreeable 
Cognant intoxication 

I sit over a field of rye
Watching the children 
Watching them play
I am their only bastion
Their only hope 
Futile as it seems
I am the catcher in the rye

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