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Click hereFive.
When I was five
my friend Peter fell from the footbridge.
On to the rail track.
He died.
Peter had lots of really good toys, cars, tanks, planes, more and better than mine.
I wonder what they’ll do with them ?
Now I am fifty five
walking through Upper Cam churchyard last week,
saw the small green grave; caught myself, wondering that wonder again.
Embarrassed, turned to see who was looking; fled .
I’d like to hide.
Five again.
- COMMENTS
LeBrozabout 16 years agoThis poem was selected from Lit's archive of over 39,000 poems for inclusion in today's Archival Review.<br>
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ozymandiaskabout 19 years agoAbout time you posted something mate.Different to what I expected from your other stuff.
Anonymousabout 19 years agospeak from the heart. They need no special embellishments to sound "poetic" because their simple truths speak to the reader. That, I believe, is what makes your poem so good--honest feelings, stated without frills. Yes, it needs a bit of editing (as most poems do), but you nailed it. :)
Hope to see more of your writing.
twelveooneabout 19 years agoone question why is that one line so long it folds over?
Still, there is an offbeat balance between 1st and 2nd sections.
