Poetry

Figure Frozen in Time

My feet drag me to the floor, As the crowd gives a deafening roar, Sword in hand, I make the last climb Before I become a figure frozen in time.

I bare my teeth, and give a low growl To my opponent, who returns it with a scowl. And I hear the death-bell ring its last chime Before I become a figure frozen in time.

The battle is long, swords pierce the sky Until one girl lets out a horrific cry But I am oblivious; am far too covered in grime To realise I will soon become a figure frozen in time.

Then the mountain roars, Lava covers the moors, Hinges are ripped off their doors As Vesuvius speaks.

Chaos envelops the arena in full, And each horse, donkey or bull Has fled the scene to avoid the red slime, But will soon become figures frozen in time.

As I watch the world around me die, My opponent is swept up, high into the sky. Then I fall to my knees, the end of my prime And prepare to become a figure frozen in time.

Fire Dances

I could see figures in the fire when I was younger. They leapt out of the grinning blinding red gums of the wood grain, Flickering upwards like fish from the water, Wearing fantastical gowns, Flashing crowns, Robes of flame, They had mouths that laughed, Eyes that sparked, Eyes that smiled back at me.

Too fast to be seen with certainty, They flickered in and out, gone in a second, Quicker than the spit of a spark, As they do in my memory now.

Maybe young minds have a way somehow Of slowing down time to give me the whirlpool memories that I have, Of dresses bejewelled with sparks, Crowns of glowing coal, Feet that trod the white-hot logs with dainty split-second precision, Figures graceful as fairy-tale brides, Too many to fix on, Too close to see,

Two eyes that smiled back at me, While the heat flushed my face, but still I watched, Mesmerised.

Where they went, those figures in the fire, Is a mystery not for me to solve.

Perhaps our minds go so fast with daily thoughts when we are old That the gowns and crowns and dances are too quick for the eye, Perhaps they are still there,

Holding their fantastical masked balls in the flames, Smiling at me as they say

Ah, she is too old now. She will see us again one day. Maybe if I look hard enough, Sit and stare,

Bring my mind to a halt

On its journey to nowhere, They will laugh at me again and hold out their hands

Offer to me their fiery palms, As they dance up the chimney

To a new venue in the stars.

SophiaHarkness

Shooting After the Star

The stars all shimmer in the light, But only one chooses to take flight. The shooting star, flying higher than a kite. Causing joy for some, and for others fright. It zips through the celestial night, Getting brighter and brighter with all its might.

He looks out of the window, with glittering eyes, Eager for one star to shoot out of the skies. He is tired of his mother, with her ‘comforting’ lies. He knew his father! He’ll live with the stars when he dies. But no matter how hard he tries, The boy breaks down, and silently cries.

The life of both energies is too strong to part, It is too hard to separate a connected heart. The star and the boy are like horse and cart. My word! Here it comes! The star reappeared! It was the opposite of what the boy had feared. The other stars stopped and smiled, when They saw that Father and Son were together again.

Sand

I am owned

Why stars, When I am bone. I am flesh, I am owned. Great mountains stand alone. Yet I am flesh, and I am bone. Ages gone, and ages past, They last, and last and last. I blink and I am gone, I am flesh, I am bone.

Why beasts, When I am flesh. I am flesh, I am owned. The beast lashes, the beast rakes, Flesh is pressed, flesh gives way. The beast is beast, and beast is flesh, The beast will die. And bone is left.

God blinks, A thousand eyes, A thousand years, The life of a fly. I am flesh, I am bone, I am man, Man is owned.

AidenMasiero

Today

Today I felt

Frustrated, angry

With a side of madness.

A fire-eater flying above

Taking flight

A bird in the Blue, Blue sky.

Fiercely broken by the power of Lightning, the Split Between The life, the death.

Running pointlessly

Today

Tomorrow Or always

Dragon-riding

Bright, loud And Purple

Across the wide, wide World, the Life Or Death.

Téa Sand

Where is my Icarus?

It was a pale daythe clouds huddled together, squeezing out heaved tears. Not a ray of sun could be seen, for her loyal, grey soldiers guarded her irregular frown.

The soldiers formed their line, a perfect scieldweall- protecting what’s more important. But when was it decided that the soldier was not significant? He is certain that if he were knocked down, he might not rise again.

It is a long day for the yellow star, her relentless gaze meaning to bring life, but often burning it to the ground. Her fiery presence should be basked in, So why does no one ever look at her without a furrowed brow?

Her daily journey above the clouds, Paints a pretty picture in the sky. Her sweat runs yellow, her blood gasps orange, streaking across the world’s canvas and recognized below with positivity.

She prays to know why her pain is appreciated, Why rockets and planes shoot towards her but never to her. As her soul leaks out across Earth’s ceiling, She sighs and waits to do it again soon later.

She thinks they must be afraid of her, The great, ugly ball of anger in space’s solitude. The other planets, the other stars, She doesn’t blame them for not wanting to be burned at her touch.

She wonders that if she were to leave, would the green down below on Earth still thrive? Would they remember to stretch towards her, without her gently tapping on their heads?

She yearns to know if her tap is scalding, if they resent her and she destroys more life than she nourishes. She wonders how being so rich in her gold, ever left her feeling so poor, alone in her superiority above.

LilyRobertson

IllustratedbySylvainChan