Nothing depends on the flat feet
That thump the peat—
wrong technique.
Shining eyes like they're coated with glaze
No-one's amazed.
But keep your chin raised.
Everything shifts as the world re-aligns:
Eyes on the time.
Not the finish line.
Shining eyes turn from a track plagued with bumps
To feet which did not even try to thump.
You don't notice the footsteps wandering from the trail.
Your whistle prevails.
Against those who fail.
But turn to the ones who whiz 'round the track
You look at your stopwatch, you're taken aback
A new record! And they're almost your child
Love, affection, your praise is not mild.
They carry the world: soil, air and sea.
I carry nothing.
nothing carries me
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A/N: Gosh, this poem sounds so bitter.
But it's about me—
Am I that bitter?
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.
