Something I wrote in class when I could hardly concentrate. A non-rhyming poem coming soon, as someone has said that I religiously use rhyme and it's time to prove that wrong.
Lid of Life
The dark shapes of life litter the early morning sky,
Eyes scanning across the moors, we gaze up high.
The wind whistles wildly through the bitter school air;
Steps leading nowhere, as we stop and stare.
Contrasting peace with a world full of sound;
No more interruptions, tranquillity found.
Silence stretches onwards, it rolls across the hills;
A gnarled tree deformed; swishing daffodils.
The poets sigh as their pens splatter the page;
They go unrecognised, in such a dying age.
Clouds swirl in the wind; the dreams to cope;
The cold strikes through the heart as you dare to hope.
© Ben Johnson 2011.
The dark shapes of life litter the early morning sky,
Eyes scanning across the moors, we gaze up high.
The wind whistles wildly through the bitter school air;
Steps leading nowhere, as we stop and stare.
Contrasting peace with a world full of sound;
No more interruptions, tranquillity found.
Silence stretches onwards, it rolls across the hills;
A gnarled tree deformed; swishing daffodils.
The poets sigh as their pens splatter the page;
They go unrecognised, in such a dying age.
Clouds swirl in the wind; the dreams to cope;
The cold strikes through the heart as you dare to hope.
© Ben Johnson 2011.
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