06-29-2015, 08:40 AM
I watched a thousand men a'marching up a green and gentle hill.
In line they followed one another, silently with single will.
To his chest the leader clutched an orb of silver, blue and brown;
and from his eyes black smoke plumed upwards, from his belly tar poured down.
Upon the summit rain was falling, scalding steam burst from the ground,
when through the foment came a roar and all below froze with the sound.
From fuming smog a hand rose trembling, grasped around the glinting sphere,
and with a lunge the arm flung forward, from the ranks a mighty cheer.
Arching through the swirling vapours, falling, falling through the gloom,
the globe was caught by grabbing hands as gravity holds tight the moon.
A new man held the prize close to him, struggling to attain the peak
when from his mouth came soot and sparks. He could not cry, he could not speak.
I watched for what seemed like a lifetime. Again the throw, again the cheer;
the curving toss into the darkness filled me each time with fateful fear.
The hands that held, the struggle skyward, time on time that saving grace;
I could not see a point or purpose...who will win this human race?
tectak(typical when bored)
2015
In line they followed one another, silently with single will.
To his chest the leader clutched an orb of silver, blue and brown;
and from his eyes black smoke plumed upwards, from his belly tar poured down.
Upon the summit rain was falling, scalding steam burst from the ground,
when through the foment came a roar and all below froze with the sound.
From fuming smog a hand rose trembling, grasped around the glinting sphere,
and with a lunge the arm flung forward, from the ranks a mighty cheer.
Arching through the swirling vapours, falling, falling through the gloom,
the globe was caught by grabbing hands as gravity holds tight the moon.
A new man held the prize close to him, struggling to attain the peak
when from his mouth came soot and sparks. He could not cry, he could not speak.
I watched for what seemed like a lifetime. Again the throw, again the cheer;
the curving toss into the darkness filled me each time with fateful fear.
The hands that held, the struggle skyward, time on time that saving grace;
I could not see a point or purpose...who will win this human race?
tectak(typical when bored)
2015