(My mom is on the phone with my aunt right now, talking about my Christmas present. I don't think she knows I can hear her.)
We've had some recent tragedies recently, and I know Thanksgiving can be a hard time for everyone, so I hope everything is okay today and that everyone is able to stuff themselves with some turkey! Or, what I'm mainly interested in, mashed potatoes. Yum.
It should be a pretty fantastic day, I hope.
My main concern is that it's kind of tradition for me to spend Thanksgiving afternoon/night reading and finishing a really good book, but I finished reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban last night, and I'm not planning on reading the fourth one yet, so I'll have to break my tradition. There will be reading, of course, I'll just have to start a book instead of end one, and I'll have to choose wisely.
I started writing this poem while in the bathtub the night before last. I haven't been writing a whole lot of poetry lately, but it's funny whenever a rhyme hits you.
I took the test; I didn't pass.
I did not even have to ask.
But after waiting, with a blast,
I sped towards heaven long at last.
(I'm just kidding--we flew on passed.)
Heaven turned out a waiting room
where forms are filled and boredom blooms
before ushered to your destined doom.
You'd think they'd grow flowers in this gloom;
instead I dwell in death's dreaded room.
I thought of life--the one I had.
I wonder the day that I went bad.
I must have disgraced my mom and dad
for being sentenced to this mournful, sad
ending of life that I never had.
The test was long. I didn't know
that different grasses in Missouri grow
or that these things mattered, though
the clerk assured me with a glow
that to get in heaven, I must know.
"No!" I said. "It's if I believe!"
I knew that I had to receive
my Savior and that he would retrieve
my soul from here. He would relieve
me from this room if I only believed.