|As fleeting feet draw me backwards
Onwards do I see myself go
Not broken by the art of lines
Not buffed and shined or worn away
Dip thy fingers one by one
To the stoke and sound of plastic ticks
Do you remember when?
As the early rise of suns do make me sing
To the highest point of our human sky
Let me and my earnest work be remembered
But I fear that it will not be so
Take me back, onwards from the past
To when we all could be ourselves
Not tempted by the curbed advancement
Nor by the wishings of moving on
I place my feet one by one
To construct and build for my good sun
And bear his light for all to see
To live on for eternity
|Language is somewhere between 1890 and 1918 but it gets me into a "Somewhere in Time" kind of mood by the second stanza. I'm hearing your footwork on the surfaces throughout. Nice rhythm and a touch of rhyme toward the end to see me off.
This a pleasant sounding poem. I bet it sounds terrific read aloud.
|Thanks for the feedback timmy!
Yeah, I tend to avoid using any modern slang or terms. Just my style I think. I like the classic! Also, I do tend to read my poems aloud, and it shows on the page many times.
Again thanks for the feedback! :P