 |
Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
|
||||
| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 09:32:08 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 160427
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The arrogance Of Being Young
[time] => 2010-06-08 03:11:28
[hometext] => remember how confident you were in your youth? Some call it arrogance. Judge for yourself.
[bodytext] => We sat in the old house, snug before the great fire, Our teacher told us ghost stories and we mocked him, Hard with the arrogance of being young. All was silent but for the spitting song of the fire and the clock That told of the hour's demise. The wind was becoming ever impatient to come in, Shaking the huge hinges of the oak door and throttling the windows In an ever increasing rage. Outside in the evening winter dark, the sky tossed and turned And thrashed in the fever of a nightmare, Shaking awake the silent slumbering valley beneath rising peaks, Brought to a tremble by the thought of the battle to come. The wind howled in a fury of expectation, tossing the last stars to far flung horizon's Where the first lightening bolt flexed it's muscles. The sheep stood nervously in their sparse winter kingdom, And the first drops of fat icey rain splattered on to the vista of wild Wales. In the room the fire threw shadows to dance a manic dance, The clock continued it's ruthless persuit of time and we waited, City boys, for the battle to begin. We went outside then stung by the evil wind, touched by the icey rain, And watched, listened, as all the while god sat watching from the feverish sky. Then god roared, a pistol crack echoing across the high mountain night, The battle had begun. We stood out in the shaking field atop the screaming river and we watched. The first crack of thunder rumbled from under the stoney peaks. The lightening, like a giant snake tripping, zig zagged down the unsuspecting valley Where we stood, twelve city boys, in awe of a moment that drained our cup of arrogance dry. Now oh lord, in full view of the passing years, when my last battle is fought, May I find myself here in the old house, snug before the fire, the clock silent at last. And on so lonely a night may I hear the wind call out from distant trees, Hear the high peaks sigh under distant horizon's, Hear my soul cry out, joyful again with the arrogance of being young. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 127 [topic] => 43 [informant] => cashfan1 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©
Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster
All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com
All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.
Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com