Dreadfully Uneditded Poem by Hunter James

Dreadfully Uneditded



Jordan crept down the hallway, the creeks in the mahogany floorboards seemed abnormally loud and the fridge droned its superficial hum. He reached the door and slid in the small gold key silently turning as not to wake his parents who no doubt needed their rest. The door opened with hesitation and he stepped out, his toes curling in response to the cold tiles. The night was clear, birds could be heard in the distance and the stars shone through. A half moon glistened above his smile, Jordan sighed. He tip toed across the cold tiles until he felt the soft summer grass between his toes. The power switch was behind the bushes, this was Jordan's favourite and worst time of the night. He slid his tanned arm under a silver web and behind the bushes, he let his hands feel around before coming across the smooth plastic of the switch, he took a deep breath and slid it down.
The garden was now his garden, the stars now in Jordan's possession. The half moon now in his tattered pockets. The yard was illuminated, droning out life past the perimeter of the small house. The small fairy lights hidden amongst the branches of Jordan's reading tree scattered light wildly. The golden reindeers bright and wild spilt a warm glow across the white tiles. Jordan wasn't much a fan of Christmas lights, though these particular ones gave him comfort. He sighed, the reindeers brought him a summers kiss. The lights draped on the roof gave him the lingering words and hope of last summer and the giddy excitement of a million summers before. The world unravelled before him, this was Jordan's time of the night. No one else knew, no one else suspected as their cheeks dampened in the drool of their pillows. As his parents snored stupidly and his aunties stared dead at reality television that life had halted, was smiling and whispering to this hurt and curious boy.
Jordan had been in love, Jordan had been in fights, Jordan had been deep in many a forest, curious and unable to go back, Jordan had been drunk many a night though nothing mattered. Nothing mattered at this time, at this moment, this moment so flexible and unpredictable yet reliable.
Jordan had burned out, used the world to his disposal, breathed each breath in preparation of this moment. Jordan was finally home.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Jennifer Chalk 04 February 2012

This is absolutely wonderful to read, you should write books for teenagers. Nothing nicer than soft summer grass between toes too. Thank you tree

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