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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Activity · #2187394
A poem about my youth....

There are these giant storms
that sometimes dwell in my mind,
in the place where as a child
i played nuclear games with rocks
for weapons dropped from bridges
of wood created during the days
where primogeniture held sway
over siblings at play, for i
- that last child of three -
was told that no matter,
you are whom you are
and you'll be what you make
of yourself.

And i, all of nine years old,
made the biggest, dirtiest, most powerful
bombs that imploded into the river amid
the stick-ships that were the enemy who
never saw the ambush from above -
for all-powerful me and i pretended
to unleash the powers of many Suns
upon practically no one
but i imagined as the rock
slammed into the sandbar,
that the picture below
of aghastness that mighty
i and me caused was a triumph
for all Mankind.
For way up above and god-like,
a nine-year-old peered down from
a bridge made of wood made sturdy
by the hands and minds and hearts
who would look askance upon
a young boy who thought such things
as being worthwhile, that killing
a million people in a flash,
a rising vortex of mud from below
all but sucked the very souls
all the way up to that imaginary plane
thousands of feet above... and later
i imagined it a job well-done deserved
a joyful celebration, inasmuch that while
happily eating a peanut butter sandwich
Mother had made for me, i was back once again
planning greater supremacy on the 'morrow.

... and the trout - for once - slept soundly.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2187394