On Striving by IanGoole

I’m going to pull the hull from this rowing machine
And do sit up till I’m ripped and buff,
My arm curls will make the world spin
And their served purpose will be enough.
I’ll start until I’m back where I began,
As the shape of my waist changes;
I’ll plant my hands into the land
And grow stronger from its drainage.


I’ll paint your name across the world’s pages,
Fly the skies in order to know you;
Maintain the grains of all the stages
Between your reaping and my sowing.
Punctuate the air with both my fists
And rattle them at battleships,
Ensure that my insistence is fitting
And kiss the mist away from morning lips.


Sift the truth from the stew of possibilities
That boils over oil fired wells,
Detect the check mate cost of willingness
That drives some lives towards hell.
Tear myself back from an action’s try
That would require friction cream,
And launch into a corner of paradise
That promises more honour for me

Read the entire poem here...

(C) IanGoole via Ian's Posterous - T-Minus: 9.

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