05-18-2014, 09:22 PM
Hello there! I sincerely hope that I haven't misunderstood the rules and am correct in posting in this forum before I have written all five of the reviews necessary for full membership. If this is incorrect, well, I assume the moderator will let me know.
So , I'm Lawrence, 14 year old aspiring poet from Australia. This one I wrote about a boy in the grade below me, who used to be a good friend of my brothers. To give the poem some reference, his father died of leukaemia when he was four. This is not a love poem, but an admiration of someone I once knew.
And so, with out further rambling from yours truly...
SON
At first glance, he's average.
Brown hair, brown eyes.
Skinny.
Not like the Aryan surfer gods that girls usually love.
His hair doesn't twinkle with a light from above.
Maybe a little tall but when push comes to shove,
He's normal.
But his eyes, I realised, aren't really brown.
But the colour of presidential car windows.
One way light, so you're always in his sight,
and he's never in yours.
Watching the world from tinted glass.
And his hair is the colour of scorched earth.
I thought once that he looked like the son of Hades.
Tall, dark, and kinda handsome, with collarbones sharp enough to kill,
and hands just made for wielding a scythe.
But his father isn't death; he's just dead.
And maybe that's why his skin is the colour of bone; because the death has grown into him.
He’s the type of boy who girls think they can change
But of course, they never can,
And he’s the type of boy who girls fall in love with,
When they’re under the arm of another man.
A child of mixed dimensions,
One part flesh, one part heavenly ascension.
Constantly crushed in the tension of their permanent divorce.
Did I forget to mention, that he often sails off course.
The custody battle is brutal, and he doesn’t know where to stay,
One foot in each house, and it could go either way,
Between his mother in their bungalow,
And his father in the grave,
He lives his life on a tightrope,
And eventually, he will fall,
For despite his mother's loving grace,
He’s his father’s son after all.
So , I'm Lawrence, 14 year old aspiring poet from Australia. This one I wrote about a boy in the grade below me, who used to be a good friend of my brothers. To give the poem some reference, his father died of leukaemia when he was four. This is not a love poem, but an admiration of someone I once knew.
And so, with out further rambling from yours truly...
SON
At first glance, he's average.
Brown hair, brown eyes.
Skinny.
Not like the Aryan surfer gods that girls usually love.
His hair doesn't twinkle with a light from above.
Maybe a little tall but when push comes to shove,
He's normal.
But his eyes, I realised, aren't really brown.
But the colour of presidential car windows.
One way light, so you're always in his sight,
and he's never in yours.
Watching the world from tinted glass.
And his hair is the colour of scorched earth.
I thought once that he looked like the son of Hades.
Tall, dark, and kinda handsome, with collarbones sharp enough to kill,
and hands just made for wielding a scythe.
But his father isn't death; he's just dead.
And maybe that's why his skin is the colour of bone; because the death has grown into him.
He’s the type of boy who girls think they can change
But of course, they never can,
And he’s the type of boy who girls fall in love with,
When they’re under the arm of another man.
A child of mixed dimensions,
One part flesh, one part heavenly ascension.
Constantly crushed in the tension of their permanent divorce.
Did I forget to mention, that he often sails off course.
The custody battle is brutal, and he doesn’t know where to stay,
One foot in each house, and it could go either way,
Between his mother in their bungalow,
And his father in the grave,
He lives his life on a tightrope,
And eventually, he will fall,
For despite his mother's loving grace,
He’s his father’s son after all.