Eleven Years Ago

I can
Hear
The children outside.
And as I do, I can remember...
I can remember when I was that young.
The mere five year old.
Spreading Christmas joy with her friends through song.

I slump back into my hard wooden chair and close my eyes to
Remember.
To remember when I stood on that stage and sang my heart out.
And the applause...
Oh, the applause that followed!

But it wasn’t for me. Oh no, not for me it was.
There she stood beside me, grinning with her gorgeous blue eyes
And perfect teeth.
For no one had heard me singing.
Illness.
Illness had struck me that day.
That wonderful day... That horrendous day.
Red faced, runny nosed and bloodshot eyed.

“So Dahlia.”
My eyes
Snap
Open as I hear my name and I sit up.
“Yes sir?!” I cry, a little too loudly.
“So, how do we expand the brackets?”
The singing has ceased, and I hear the tiny
Pitter patter
Of tiny feet as they leave.
With them, go all the worry
All the fret.
Because that had been a successful day.

Because I can still remember smiling, smiling all the way through.
“What are you grinning like that for, missy? What do you find so funny?”
Memories may change... sadly, teachers never will.

Hum. This doesn't really fallow a poem format. But interesting,

"I can
Hear
The children outside.
And as I do, I can remember...
I can remember when I was that young.
The mere five year old.
Spreading Christmas joy with her friends through song.

I slump back into my hard wooden chair and close my eyes to
Remember.
To remember when I stood on that stage and sang my heart out.
And the applause...
Oh, the applause that followed!

But it wasn’t for me. Oh no, not for me it was.
There she stood beside me, grinning with her gorgeous blue eyes
And perfect teeth.
For no one had heard me singing.
Illness.
Illness had struck me that day.
That wonderful day... That horrendous day.
Red faced, runny nosed and bloodshot eyed.

“So Dahlia.”
My eyes
Snap
Open as I hear my name and I sit up.
“Yes sir?!” I cry, a little too loudly.
“So, how do we expand the brackets?”
The singing has ceased, and I hear the tiny
Pitter patter
Of tiny feet as they leave.
With them, go all the worry
All the fret.
Because that had been a successful day.

Because I can still remember smiling, smiling all the way through.
“What are you grinning like that for, missy? What do you find so funny?”
Memories may change... sadly, teachers never will."



I like the last paragraph the best.

Interesting Poem. I've never heard one like this before. Very Nice Poem.

Thanks for the reviews

It's odd, but I like it. Perhaps if you edited it in the future, you would have a fantastic piece. Although, this seems like it belongs under Narrative Poetry...