Sponge and Shoots

Open another screen
Of empty space that soon will be
Filled with imageries
Of words that once were dead.

Thinking straight with a blank.
In reality my mind is always plain.
Yet everyday I try
To squeeze one more word onto my page.

My head is a sponge.
A drying sponge desperately needs water.
My mind is a sponge,
A feeble sponge that is shaped by outside hands.

Twenty,
I feel like I'm tender shoots among the wind,
Swaying left of unsure path,
Swaying right of unsure words.

Seeking truths among colors of pens,
Observing nature resolving problems through its life cycle,
I try to keep be reminded
That I'm but small, small shoots.

It doesn't matter
Whether I am a sponge or shoots,
I feel like I'm living in a giant world.
It doesn't matter
Whether I'm a sponge or shoots,
I'm always amazed by small things.

Like I'm amazed how I can have a can opened.
(Put the can in hot water.)
And I'm atonished by how little people care about school projects.
(They are all interested in finals and midterms.)

And oh the smallest thing makes me powerless.
I always feel overwhelming...
I always feel I'm too weak.
I always feel books are for the shelves.

(c)June 16, 2003
Eliza Simmons

Note: Really, I started writing this poem with a blank on my mind, and then it just flow this way....