We welcome you to write a short hostel story and win prizes of up to Rs 41,000. Click here!
We welcome you to write a short hostel story and win prizes of up to Rs 41,000. Click here!

Pluto

Pluto

4 mins 359 4 mins 359

There are songs I sing along

A perfect recitation every time,

Yet can not recall the words

Disembodied from the harmony.


Places I have traveled

And upon arriving

Could not retrace the path

Having only paid attention

To the road but not the turns,

The concrete but not the way

It tugged and let me follow it home.


Memory weaves a crooked tale

And upon a crooked frame

It still dares to stand

And tell me who I am.


With gallery grace

And arena acoustics,

Gladiator gravitas

Let me make some things clear.


I tell warped stories so woeful

That listeners lips curl into a frown

And getting stuck that way

I create monuments to my own sorrow

Just to insure I’ll be remembered.


As any poet I spout forth

Enough hot air

To raise the balloon,

Even if it’s just to let it crash

When I’m lost for words.


For my diction though expansive

Can’t ever get the whole truth out,

Every new term I learn

Only dances around the crux of the matter.


With gallery grace

And arena acoustics,

Gladiator gravitas

Let me make some things unclear.


Where does my valour lie?

Which ditch do I need

To kick a spade at

To dig it up and dust it off?


Would it even be salvageable

And if it is could I trust

That it was every truly mine?


If it fits so foreign

And slopes off my shoulders

Far too broad

It can’t have been made for me.


What waterproofing can I spread

At all the seals

So I’m not undone at the

First sign of calamity.


Do the stars tire

Of holding up the night

With linked arms

And sagging spines,

In the same way, I grow weary

Of holding my head up

Of putting one foot

In front of the other

When I’d rather put my back to the soil

And my toes to the sky?


Memory weaves a crooked tale

And upon a crooked frame

I also crooked refuse to play this game.


Not severing roots

But forgetting the dirt they grew in,

Never ignoring my own past

But stubborn as a mule

And steady as a tractor

I now set my own course.


With gallery grace

And arena acoustics,

Gladiator gravitas

Let me say just one more thing


I am the last of my kind

Like Pluto far off

Almost forgotten

But still reflecting light

I travel through the night

Revolving around the sun

Yearning for warmth,

Yet content because

For evermore I shall circle my master.



Rate this content
Log in

More english poem from Vaughan Wesley

Similar english poem from Abstract