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His Armor MAG
November 15, 2018
He clung to the notebook
His only armor against the tidal
Waves, stomping on him like a horse
Gone wild,
His mind a temple
Of both sacred and cursed words
But then
The bell rings
He struggles to his feet
His hood around his shoulders
No sword or shield to safeguard
His sinking sanity
Success only a glimmer on the horizon
As he shuffles to his next school seminar
His headphones eviscerating any shout
That maybe be shot his way
© Grace K., Port Washington, NY
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This poem is about daily school life, and how someones notebook may be the most powerful thing they have, like a prized possession.