He sits in silence bent over his desk…
He watches his watch dying a slow agonising death…
He knows what he is… a surgeon…
A life saver… he must do this; it is no burden
He wears no mask, he fears nothing…
For he is always certain he knows what’s coming…
He picks his tools, and shifts on his stool…
And imagines himself drowning in a pool…
Wiping the sweat off of his tired face…
He wearily looks at the finish line of the race…
It’s not that far, he knows he can make it…
But for how long does he think he can fake it?
____________________________________
OK, I admit. Poetry is not my strong point. This is just something I wrote over a year ago. It's... weird, to say the least.
8 months ago
11 comments:
Ah, quite the poet eh?
Good :)
Is this about some guy who is faking something? He's like fighting hard to rip off that mask kinda thing?
On the outside he looks like this real strong guy, but he's afraid too, uncertain too (shifting in his stool and all), insecure, perhaps?
Two faced?
Is he waiting for answers?
Just wondering PB :)
I have NO idea. :D
LOL @ you have no idea. :D
Not bad, man, confused me a bit to say the least, but it's a bit mad. And that's the key ingredient of poetry after all. (;
Er... thanks (I think). :p
You know what this reminded me of?
Heroes!
LOL
i like... :)
nice writing!
@Sachintha - YES. Syler! :D
@tash - Thanks, dude. :)
Woah... it rhymes... *looks on in amazement*
Whoa... you've actually got something nice to say to me for a change... *looks on in amazement*
:p
Wow... The sarcasm in that flew right past you? *continues to look on in amazement*
Wow... The sarcasm in that flew right past you? *continues to look on in amazement*
:p
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