"summited" poems - Hello Poetry

How fast a vegetable heart can perish? A toddler growing like a seed of corn Planted on a fertile ground So cherished, Like a man after the king's heart. Not knowing nature has a different plan against him Or men of the underworld are strongly against his being And too desperate to shower unending tears on her fresh mother's smiling cheeks He was stolen away by death. I can't forget that dark scaring night Where all the heavenly bodies were dead asleep. The echoes of his granny shout still live in my head A shout she made like she just realised she has been praying into deaf ears The prowess of which I plucked him off my mother laps to my chest Still baffles me The race we ran to the empty darkness outside Reminds me of the speed of a certain Bolt from Jamaica. In prayers, speed and tears We continue our race to a center for health care Too much fluid is lost, the doctor summited and aided us to continue our race for more competence. Competence often too difficult to find in this part of Africa. To cut it all short, competence was found Treatment was made Praises bell began to ring in our hearts for we thought he was already saved. Yes, the next morning, he moved, smiled and uses hands to play! But the noon that follows the whole story changed And the ceremony of mourning began. His spirited effort wasn't enough and he had to leave us, No, he was jealously taken away from us Just weeks before his first year birthday. The stain of his tears still lives on my mother pillow Reminding her that she was a grand mother for eleven months and a week ago. His happy face still stand in a picture at a corner of her mother mirror Recalling the fact that she has lost a gem to the world of ghosts. His father striving to remain a man as he pushes to get loans To pay up his medical bills from family and folks even from supposing foes. The pain of his departure never cease to add Bitter sound to my heart beat, Though forgotten how cute he was when he was alive But I never fail to remember how cute he became in dead indeed. His demise was a script Unseen, Till date it remain a prank to me. Amidst all the experiences I have been forced to face This is one of the scripts I wish it was never written nor played.

0

Feb 8, 2014

Feb 8, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC

victor-ernest-osong

The Script Unseen.

How fast a vegetable heart can perish? A toddler growing like a seed of corn Planted on a fertile ground So cherished, Like a man after the king's heart. Not knowing nature has a different plan against him Or men of the underworld are strongly against his being And too desperate to shower unending tears on her fresh mother's smiling cheeks He was stolen away by death. I can't forget that dark scaring night Where all the heavenly bodies were dead asleep. The echoes of his granny shout still live in my head A shout she made like she just realised she has been praying into deaf ears The prowess of which I plucked him off my mother laps to my chest Still baffles me The race we ran to the empty darkness outside Reminds me of the speed of a certain Bolt from Jamaica. In prayers, speed and tears We continue our race to a center for health care Too much fluid is lost, the doctor summited and aided us to continue our race for more competence. Competence often too difficult to find in this part of Africa. To cut it all short, competence was found Treatment was made Praises bell began to ring in our hearts for we thought he was already saved. Yes, the next morning, he moved, smiled and uses hands to play! But the noon that follows the whole story changed And the ceremony of mourning began. His spirited effort wasn't enough and he had to leave us, No, he was jealously taken away from us Just weeks before his first year birthday. The stain of his tears still lives on my mother pillow Reminding her that she was a grand mother for eleven months and a week ago. His happy face still stand in a picture at a corner of her mother mirror Recalling the fact that she has lost a gem to the world of ghosts. His father striving to remain a man as he pushes to get loans To pay up his medical bills from family and folks even from supposing foes. The pain of his departure never cease to add Bitter sound to my heart beat, Though forgotten how cute he was when he was alive But I never fail to remember how cute he became in dead indeed. His demise was a script Unseen, Till date it remain a prank to me. Amidst all the experiences I have been forced to face This is one of the scripts I wish it was never written nor played.

43

Mechanically, he turned and stepped away. Though there remained a symphony to say, the audience was obviously tired. The orchestra was weak and uninspired. And so he wandered up the street, and down, through all the dry vernacular of town. A thousand trivialities he passed until the sidewalk brought him home at last. He summited the dim and creaking stair. He sank into the thrift store easy chair, closed his eyes, and waited for her face. She smiled at him. Then darkness took her place.

0

Feb 19, 2010

Feb 19, 2010 at 8:33 AM UTC

curtis-lindsay

goodbye in g minor

Mechanically, he turned and stepped away. Though there remained a symphony to say, the audience was obviously tired. The orchestra was weak and uninspired. And so he wandered up the street, and down, through all the dry vernacular of town. A thousand trivialities he passed until the sidewalk brought him home at last. He summited the dim and creaking stair. He sank into the thrift store easy chair, closed his eyes, and waited for her face. She smiled at him. Then darkness took her place.

12

I'm in the dark deep trenches of self esteem and have summited the mountain of self hatred. My head is not an empty box, my mind does harbour dreams. I wish for stars and gold for claps in rhythmic tones but instead i sit and cry on about how i just can't.

0

Dec 21, 2014

Dec 21, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC

kailasha

Self

I'm in the dark deep trenches of self esteem and have summited the mountain of self hatred. My head is not an empty box, my mind does harbour dreams. I wish for stars and gold for claps in rhythmic tones but instead i sit and cry on about how i just can't.

8

Once, after twenty years of fruitless scribblings, a composer finally crafted his magnum opus. Then a gas line sparked and exploded killing the man and his work. Once, a sculptor knelt on a beach to mold an intricate scale model of ancient Greece fifty feet long. But no one saw it, save the moonlit tide as it soaked it’s way through the replicated sand pillars. Once, a lone mountaineer gathered up his courage and embarked on a climb never conquered. He summited just before freezing in a snowdrift. Life is a thin rice paper. It can burn. It can tear. It can decay. It will expire. However, it can also be painted on with colors more vibrant more stunning than the shades of the soul. Once, there was a universe that held a floating rock with water and heat and air. Then a life formed and the universe observed itself… …If only for a while.

0

Sep 27, 2013

Sep 27, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC

e-g-fellenstein

Significance

Once, after twenty years of fruitless scribblings, a composer finally crafted his magnum opus. Then a gas line sparked and exploded killing the man and his work. Once, a sculptor knelt on a beach to mold an intricate scale model of ancient Greece fifty feet long. But no one saw it, save the moonlit tide as it soaked it’s way through the replicated sand pillars. Once, a lone mountaineer gathered up his courage and embarked on a climb never conquered. He summited just before freezing in a snowdrift. Life is a thin rice paper. It can burn. It can tear. It can decay. It will expire. However, it can also be painted on with colors more vibrant more stunning than the shades of the soul. Once, there was a universe that held a floating rock with water and heat and air. Then a life formed and the universe observed itself… …If only for a while.

31

For the taste of her skin Her sweetness exploding on his tongue For the caress of his fingertips Navigating the rise and fall of her curves For the scent of her arousal An intoxication to his senses For her cries of ecstacy As the summited their passion He hungered for her all

0

Feb 10, 2018

Feb 10, 2018 at 4:07 PM UTC

FionaCrouch

Her All

For the taste of her skin Her sweetness exploding on his tongue For the caress of his fingertips Navigating the rise and fall of her curves For the scent of her arousal An intoxication to his senses For her cries of ecstacy As the summited their passion He hungered for her all

9