Folder Fodder

 Going

through stuff with the thought of clearing out the detritus, I came across this forgotten vinyl carrybag, the kind Dave used to bring to the office containing files and resumes and such. But I had appropriated this one for my use, filled with college papers, memos, and, lord help us, some of my early writings. It is true that most valued had been my post-graduate exam from Dr. J. Thompson Littlefield, where he had written a personal note, and finally, an A in literature. 

But inserted in the pages, some of my early poetry . Snookie keeps telling me to write more, but I don't think she would mean of this genre:

      Mordant Terror

Sometimes in the sleepless night

Comes the cold, clear knowledge

That all are mortal and must die, 

And I feel I should call 

And invite everyone to a party

So that they might live.

But with the dawn comes daylight

And with it the illusion

That what had appeared as certainty

Is only a nightmare

And will pass. 

And then the sun comes out

And burns away the truth.