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Fifty Yards Behind!

His mood, a singular mixture,
Of fear and exultation,
His keen thoughts were,
To accomplish his purpose,
Vaguer but larger than
Of the awfulnees of his life,
His exultation far exeeded
His fear,
This conception of his,
World would hear of him,
People who had sneered
at him,
Preferred other people to him,
Found his company undesirable,
World would consider him
At last;
He had been treated as a man
of no importance,
His world had been lived
in a conspiracy to keep
him under;
He would teach them what
it is to isolate a man;
Fifty yards behind, are
you there?
Phew, he felt like a Martyr,
But it is a fifty yards
At any rate, he would not fail,
And his head felt queer,
He waved his thoughts of
of existence,
Stood there lost in
with his arms folded,
Upon his breast, awaiting
the arrival of a certainty
of dignity,
As he saw you fifty yards
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Submitted on June 28, 2010

48 sec read

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