Poerty - What Others Cannot See

What Others Cannot See by Miranda Hawkins

This poem reads left to right, left to right, like that, all the way down to the bottom. It was a high school Creative Writing assignment that got a little out of hand. :)

You see yellow, Like sunshine, It's cheerful and bright, Rarely unhappy With what life gives, But it blinds you to the truth. I see black The absence of all color, Dark, secretive, hidden, Rarely noticed, but always there, Lurking in the shadows, Longing for solitude. You see a boring text book Filled with useless facts About circumstantial subjects, Sitting on an abandoned shelf An inch of mildewed dust Plastered to my uncreased spine, Preventing the title from being read And hiding my true self. I see a novel of fantasy, Filled with the strange and the bizarre, And although not as well-read As an ‘edge-of-your-seat' thriller, My select group Is a welcome one, Even though they rarely take the time To finish my story. You see a mouse, Unwilling to leave my home, Running at the hint of danger, Seeking refuge When strangers come to call, Living a life of what?. . . Fear? Perhaps I dodge so quickly from view That you cannot see the truth. I see a watchful hawk Observing all that transpires around me, Yet rarely getting involved, Blending with the background Or soaring so high I cannot be seen, Waiting for the perfection of the moment Before revealing my existence To those who never knew I was there. You see a warm spring day, The sun shining down, Everything happy and light-hearted, Flowers blooming, birds singing, And maybe a bubbling brook. It must be all the noise That closes you to the truth. I see a dark, overcast day That takes place in early fall, The season that signifies The beginning of the end. The rain descends softly, But causes many ripples In puddles that were still.
Continue to see what you want to see It isn't the truth. But I'm the only one who knows who I am, Because that is the me That others cannot see.


All poetry, stories, etc. ©2000 Miranda J. Hawkins. All rights reserved




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You see yellow, Like sunshine, It's cheerful and bright, Rarely unhappy With what life gives, But it blinds you to the truth.	I see black The absence of all color, Dark, secretive, hidden, Rarely noticed, but always there, Lurking in the shadows, Longing for solitude.
You see a boring text book Filled with useless facts About circumstantial subjects, Sitting on an abandoned shelf An inch of mildewed dust Plastered to my uncreased spine, Preventing the title from being read And hiding my true self.	I see a novel of fantasy, Filled with the strange and the bizarre, And although not as well-read As an ‘edge-of-your-seat' thriller, My select group Is a welcome one, Even though they rarely take the time To finish my story.
You see a mouse, Unwilling to leave my home, Running at the hint of danger, Seeking refuge When strangers come to call, Living a life of what?. . . Fear? Perhaps I dodge so quickly from view That you cannot see the truth.	I see a watchful hawk Observing all that transpires around me, Yet rarely getting involved, Blending with the background Or soaring so high I cannot be seen, Waiting for the perfection of the moment Before revealing my existence To those who never knew I was there.
You see a warm spring day, The sun shining down, Everything happy and light-hearted, Flowers blooming, birds singing, And maybe a bubbling brook. It must be all the noise That closes you to the truth.	I see a dark, overcast day That takes place in early fall, The season that signifies The beginning of the end. The rain descends softly, But causes many ripples In puddles that were still.