The stopwatch starts with a beep
And into the water I dive
No longer am I half asleep
Just hearing the seconds that make me alive
100,000 seconds
100,000 a week
You snooze or you beat—
Get swept off your feet
Get fitter, get better, get faster
Gasping? Choking? Just push on
Trophies are made of sweat and plasters
And they need to be won.
Out of the water, emerges, surges
Me, scrambling to see a number
On a little screen, and it better be better
Or I’ll feel the pain of those six feet under
Land training, no complaining
Just working on my technique
‘Cause let’s face it, I put on time
And if I don’t lose it, my future’s so bleak
Shave off those seconds
Are you getting weak?
Are you getting beat?
Getting swept off your feet?
Get medals, don’t settle like metal
Bleeding? Screaming? Just push on
Trophies are made of sweat and plasters
And they need to be won.
Out of the books, emerges, surges
Me, scrambling to see a grade
On a little slip, and it better be better
Or I’ll feel the pain of those felled by blade
100,000 seconds must add up to an A.
They must—wait, what?! No way.
No way.
YOU ARE READING
Anarchy
PoetryAnarchy. A swirl of topics: emotions, allusions to history, social issues... And somewhere in the maelstrom comes forth rhymes and prose. Note: If you can't be bothered to read all the poems (quite understandably), I've starred the better ones.
