The Falcon
Man, is this lame or what? A seventeen year old guy writing a journal. I don't even know
how to start. The whole thing is Mrs. Robinson's idea. She's making us write a practice
essay for our college applications at the end of this quarter, because we have to write one
for real next fall when we're seniors. She's making a big deal out of it because she says
its getting harder and harder to get into college, and colleges are even more interested in
essays these days than in SATs...
I wonder why colleges are so big on writing? On my list of favorite things to do, writing's down pretty low, I gotta
tell you. Not that I actually hate it. I mean, it's not as bad as Spanish or
calculus. Now there's a subject that
really sucks.
The funny thing about writing is, once you get into it, it's not that bad. Believe it or not I had a poem published
in a magazine a few years ago. I wrote it when I was fourteen. I still remember it by heart. It's called "The
Falcon."
As the falcon sits
on his lonely perch
his heart is soaring
through the deep blue sky.
He dreams of drifting
through the cool, crisp air
and seeing things to be.
The falcon sits
with his head sagging down
and his eyes staring up,
a chain around his leg.