He stood on two legs and ran
before he even walked.
His eyes rolled up to the heavens,
black and brighter than stars,
sharper than crystal shards
as he dreamed and schemed--
the cogs in his head turned
and gleamed with the oil of ambition.
Oh, how his admission
into the fold of the mighty
would not be deterred!
His purple cloak,
draped upon shoulders small and frail
still blew regally in the chill wind.
Fate would mark him bitter;
his pride reduced to a rusty shield.
A war, whether in ocean or field
would finally crush him,
reduce him to a shriveled corpse.
And he would know
that it was the first seed
to be planted in his mind:
he would know that failure bloomed
where victory was sown
because the way of the world
was to lend the mighty power
and collect thrice the weight of its loan.
A contest entry
- Ray Caesar - digital art inspiration #13 by leander.
400 points, ended March 27, 2007, 9 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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There is definately a lot of beautiful images inside of your words, and I do like that
you've done a great job
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hmm.. you have some awesome imagery phrases here. I entered this contest too, I am commenting randomly, and your words just reminded me of the image...
good luck!
~bad resln -
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Thanks
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