Golden PeakA Poem by Not here
Until I fall, until I lose
I will brawl and never confuse everything that I once did seek. I've arrived at my golden peak. Peak behind this curtain of gold. Welcome to my golden peak, so bold. I've spent days here just trying to mold my wishes into my work I sold. Selling it to whoever will behold and buy it for a thousand fold of what it may be worth. Untold stories are meant to be now unrolled. All told, I will now stand and uphold my life under all circumstances. To fold is not an option, because I foretold my future is about to just explode. My potential is just much too bright so I put on my sunglasses. Right away I turn around. Night is crashing in on me tight. I'm suffocating forthright from all the dark and my might is starting to just turn quite weakly into a more slight version of what it was in spite of my best efforts to stay upright. I will brawl and never confuse everything that I once did seek. I've arrived at my golden peak. I'm a little cheeky, my rhymes are just too squeaky, so I turn a little freaky when I get into my creaky rocking chair while I'm sneaky. Sneaking around so sleekly, trying to find a peak. See I'm on the road to victory. This is my new story. Writing my book of glory even while my inventory looks like an abandoned quarry. Rocks, stocks, bonds and flocks are nothing more than road blocks. I don't need fame to start this walk. Success is not the main thing I stalk. Talking boxes, full of squawking squawks. I spend everyday just breaking rocks that keep on refusing to crumble. I keep spitting out these words I mumble. I will brawl and never confuse everything that I once did seek. I've arrived at my golden peak. Rapidity rap-rap, rhyming real realistically. Learning linguistically to flow artistically. Characteristically, I rhyme statistically but unrealistically expect optimistically. Lines like that are lines that cause lines to stand outside and pause as they wait for hours on end for my linear shows to begin, my friend. Lines flow smooth like lines on ice, creating shapes that so much entice. One, two, three, four, almost there. One last time fixing up my hair. The curtains open, here we go. Finally it's time for my favorite show. The crowds are roaring, happily. Critics dare not now snap at me. Unashamedly, I mumble these rhymes, spit out things that might be considered crimes. But as I said before, this perfectly sleek road leads to my far-off golden peak.
© 2015 Not hereAuthor's Note
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14 Reviews Added on April 11, 2015 Last Updated on April 12, 2015 Author
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