I am now considering Geology for a career (or, if you want to get technical, field of study).
Why yes, I am insane.
I can't in good conscience live off poetry - I love poetry to bits, but I also get depressed very easily if I'm not exposed to new things. To give you a little perspective: I love school and learning, but I get completely and utterly exhausted by the monotony of it all. There's also little to no money in poetry unless you write something of the caliber of Shakespeare, which, in today's world, is akin to drilling oil from a water fountain.
To further convince you that my choice is not completely wacko, I present my case: creativity is directly linked to depression. No joke. I've seen it happen, in others and in myself. Name one creative person that didn't go through depression in one way or another - Beethoven? Yep. Van Gogh? Yep. Edgar Allan Poe? Yesiree. Hemingway? You got it. Plus, I have most of the respected scientific community on my side. Not that you care if you're a cdesign proponentsist, in which case I invite you to - ah, yes, where was I...
I'm thinking Geology for several reasons. For one, I want to travel. Desperately. Two, I love rocks, what makes up rocks, what effects rocks, and why everyone should think rocks are sexy. Three, I want to by able to have a talk with a cdesign proponentsist, point out a rock three feet away, and observe that it is older than their dear old sky pixie. And four...well, it sounds pretty cool.
I'm currently looking into Canadian Universities, because Canada is awesome, but if you drop me a line on some good geology programs anywhere, Canada, U.S. (not Jesusland, preferably - above the Mason-Dixon line), the Federated States of Micronesia, anywhere, I'll love you forever.
Now, on to poetry. In this particular poem, I wanted to convey a sort of transition - nature is reclaiming the earth, but parts of our legacy still remains, whether that is good or bad. The burnt cross symbolizes something sinister whose mask has been torn off - people seek comfort in crosses, but when you take away the false face you see the evil underneath. I'll leave you to consider what everything else in this poem means - as I've said before, things can be interpreted however you like (and I love to hear how you interpret them!).
Sunlight is a lethargic thing-Com
Falling lazily across the forest floor
Leaves drift down from the tree tops
From a fall sky of cerulean blue.
A creek runs between shining rocks
A can washes upon a concrete shore
Where the remnants of ashes are blown by a cool wind
Where a burnt wooden cross still laughs in glee at the destruction.