Monday, March 28, 2011

Owned, by the stairs



tumble weeds of the prairie,

they know not since they don’t see,

of off-color plaster walls,

approach from the periphery.

how foolish was I,

persuaded by an evil demon,

to launch down rolling buttress hills,

recycled from slumbering lunatics.

alike to a reunion between Venus and Mars,

on a scale of epic proportions,

stupidity it seems as reached its limit,

with craters created by cranial helmets.

3 comments:

NBA86 said...

great poem!!

made me think of chaos a little bit when you described "rolling down buttress hills recycled from slumbering lunatics"

who is the evil demon??

Jessica said...

I love the imagery in this poem!

Nikki said...

"...stupidity it seems as reached its limit/with craters created by cranial helmets"
The alliteration tumbles off the tongue just like your poem! The ending brings me back down to earthfrom your grandiose imagery ("...alike to a reunion between Venus and Mars") and feels like a crash landing, bouncing and rolling to a stop. I like it.