The Backwards Pinwheel

A pinwheel,
An innocent child’s toy.
With blades of shear plastic,
Spinning in the wind,
Cutting the air,
Forcefully.
Backwardly.

By time’s punch-
it moves,
Faster,
Faster,
And faster yet
Slicing,
And slaughtering the air.

Its blades of black
And crimson plastic,
Raised high on it’s pole,
It cuts through the wind
It’s cutting,
Its coming.

Yet in the end
Time catches this pinwheel
Stopping it,
In its backwards tracks.
The odd one out.
The broken,
But sharp silver one.

The wind stops its motion
The pinwheel stops cutting through
It stops causing a ruckus-
With its sound.
It dies down.
Controlled now.
It lost to time.

 

Author's Note

Pinwheels. i love them. yet the other night when i was doing my history homework, i looked at the Nazi symbol, and yup i though of Pinwheels. i thought it was ironic, how pinwheels had sharp edges usually, how they were often red or silver. So i wrote this poem about it. the Nazi's did horrible horrible things, and i wanted to convey that, without, saying it. sometimes the least graphic things can hit you the most. sorry if i have now diluted ur vision of a pinwheel. ><

Reviews

[Tallulah]

eh i never really liked pinwheels anyways, they always cut me.:) i love this poem. its so abastract you can get so many conclusions from this. i love it.

[Lexi Nicole]

I love this! The message behind it is brilliant, I love how you portrayed it!

-Howl