This old man
He lay in his stone cold bed,
Waking to the sounds of pure nature
Only to fall back into the coma
By hitting his skull against
The slab of stone overhead.
What sort of thoughts
Go through the average man?
There isn't a single thing
That can protect you entirely.
Once an exit is made
A turn back is impossible.
There is also,
As many of you know,
A pit an hour between deception.
When last we left our people,
Yes...
When last we left our people,
We left one here blind
And the other deaf.
So when we slink back
To our sleeps in which we started,
We hope to rest on these stone beds.
But when we wake,
We wonder...
Will we fall the same fate
As the old man?
Will we skin our skulls to drawl strength?
Or will we remember the route to the exit,
So that we may never return to this coma?
My tactic is simple.
I move a small boulder
Next to my bedside.
Upon it I place a hope.
A dream.
And, of course, a moon shot.
A hope for that in which I will not fall to this fate.
A dream that I may sleep well through the night under nature.
And a moon shot to disperse a headache I may endure in the morning.
A contest entry
- Picture Inspired by February Moon.
400 points, ended February 2, 2009, 7 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Really well done.
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good job
wow thats amazing keep it the good work -
i don't know how you got all of that from that one picture.
great imagination.
good luck on the contest.
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