[Poem] The Battle
-
They sat down in the grid of grey desks, pens poised,
minds a mass of colours:
Red and blue and yellow with frustration, fear and eagerness.
Grey with that dull sense of deja vu:
That familiar vision of sitting at the grey table, badly vandalized,
glazed eyes staring blankly
at that piece of evil on the table.
Of course in this epochal battle,
each head, bent towards the table in concentration
tells its own story of victory and defeat.
Having had a hand in orchestrating this,
by turns I prayed in intercession
for clarity of minds,
by turns I shook my head
at their muddied foolishness.
Young soldiers in battle, some poised for war, equipped, their mouths set, their belts girded.
And yet still
Some bewildered some crying inside some shivering some yawning some thinking of a love
waiting outside.
They played their chess now.
I'd played mine awhile back, setting the pieces and the traps that
I'd spent the last months warning them against.
Now will these sheep learn from their wolverine tutor? -
Looking into the battlefield
The eagle has a nice keen view
Munching on a quick meal
Before diving in for the kill!
Enemies beware!
We know everything from the eagle's glare!
With much flair
We will seize you with a snare! -
How come this poem reminds me of my office?
-
Do you read Alfred, Lord Tennyson?Originally posted by eagle:Looking into the battlefield
The eagle has a nice keen view
Munching on a quick meal
Before diving in for the kill!
Enemies beware!
We know everything from the eagle's glare!
With much flair
We will seize you with a snare! -
No... I almost never read poems de...Originally posted by DeadPoet:Do you read Alfred, Lord Tennyson?
-
Then let me share this poem with you.
The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
RingÂ’d with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson -
Originally posted by DeadPoet:
It's by him ah... I used it for my siggy long time ago...
Then let me share this poem with you.
[b]The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
RingÂ’d with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
[/b]