Ever since I read Blue Like Jazz
, I have always wished I was referred to as, "my friend Austin, the beat poet," but I'm not that cool, a little bit too much of the programmer, not enough poet. That aside, I do write poetry and it somehow melds into who I am and how I express myself. I thought I would share a more recent poem, so I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think.
~Austin, the programmer wishing to be a beat poet.
The world falls to shrapnel gray.
as winter begins its slow decay.
Trees undressed by the wind,
bleed their colors to the ground.
We sway like limbs laden with ice,
all our bones bending down.
And the only sign of life:
a pink flush of faces.