I Used to Write Poetry
Monday May 11, 2009
When I was fifteen, I fancied myself something of a poet. I even went so far as to put my poems on the internet. Below, you will find a fine example of why I no longer do any such thing.
Pushing Me Ever On
Wizened oak in sadness bowed,
Shattered limbs which once grew proud,
The scream of wind grows ever loud,
Pushing me ever on.
Life and death go hand in hand,
A lively orchestra, deadly band
Never a symphony as ever grand,
Pushing me ever on.
Shadows creep upon the soul,
Deadly fingers, shivering cold,
Heat of fire used to scold,
Pushing me ever on.
Man of darkness, man of might,
One who stalks the dead of night,
Giving children awful fright,
Pushing me ever on.
