The Narrator

I tell stories

of little girls I heard,

singing along,

to a big girls song.


of men being men,

women being women,

and kids who just want to grow up.


of wars waged and won,

or better yet, of wars unwaged,

pain avoided.


Of anxious parents,

pacing in the dark,

and kids who just want to grow up.


of creatures of habit,

spontaneously combusting,

in flashes of anger.


I tell stories,

for how good is a spark,

if there is no darkness to show its shine?

  11 comments for “The Narrator

  1. Jackee Abishai
    February 20, 2013 at 6:57 pm

    Simply beautiful…

  2. oyoKeari
    February 23, 2013 at 7:50 pm

    Quite a story!

  3. tabu
    April 12, 2013 at 7:40 pm


  4. April 20, 2013 at 2:03 am

    Your poetry reminds me of Whitman –

  5. April 20, 2013 at 2:04 am

    the last 2 stanzas are exceptional

  6. April 30, 2013 at 1:15 pm

    Oh my!

  7. April 30, 2013 at 4:03 pm

    Brilliant as always, Michael. That last bit about the darkness…insightful

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