I feel these stirrings rushing within
while they're still in slow acting mode.
This jolts the inerts, friction's dust.
Lazily, they tarry, awaiting season's knock
however, they wait painfully, and they sulk about.
So its the inside friction of the motion
that finally brings them all out and about.
Which caused them to not go quietly,
meaning their freedom was bought and caught.
Gliding on the inner struggle to fling
themselves about, they casually recover
what was left in round-a-bout.
Traces of surrender-hummed (victory song),
pulsates through complicated half closed tubes.
A contest entry
- #71 at Winklings for members and Friends from Allpoetry. by Lyndon.
3000 points, ended June 7, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Overlook made up words
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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I think you were having fun as you wrote!
Thank you for entering. Good luck.
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very lovely and playful piece...but the message is delivered effectively...keep on writing my friends...you're definitely a talented writer!
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Nicely written, the inner frictions could be inside us, or the bloom of the fower. Either way a beautiful statement indeed.
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It was a midnight write hahhaha and with those one just never knows which way hahaha they'll be flowing this one, I don't likeol
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a good piece of poetry you have penned - keep the victory songs quietly humming i say, then later they can be sung gustily
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Ian, I love you...for you to say that at this time is so special - yes, later with more gusto, I agreelol
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