Petes Poetry
The Boy Who Thought He Could Fly.
Once apone A time
In a land pretty close by
There once was a little boy
Who thought he could fly.
Climbing, Negotiating trees and their branches
Balancing on limbs with trapeize like stances.
But try as he will
He could not fly.
The best he colud do,
Was get 10 feet closer to the sky.
He'd stare at the stars
Not just a shooting glance.
Found himself lifted
Taken in a trance.
Although he was gorn
His feet were firm on the ground
Just A few more million light years
And his galaxy will be found.
Alien to all around him
He was a bad tempered child.
As ferocious as a kitten
Except more adventurous and wild.
His dreams flew like arrows
Leaving him and his bow behind.
Only wishing to be on the end of one,
His target he could not find.
He constantly found himself
Lost and out of range.
In a bad tempered fit
His room he did de-arrange.
Flights of fancy
Flights of angels from god.
Nothing could change him,
This boy was odd.
Grounded but high
He was not afraid to die.
His fear lay in people,
Those who did'nt see his view.
But being stuck up there
Who would really want to.
Scared and alone
He pushed himself to the edge
Up 13 stories
Looking down from the ledge.
It was out of curiosity and a thrill
Now it turns out he's mentally ill.
These fine lines he's taken to manhood
He may of been bad but his intentions were good.
He's flown grog down his gob hole.
He's flown a car into a light pole.
But his true flight lies in his soul.
Pete.
Copyright(C) Peter Riddoch 2004.
In a land pretty close by
There once was a little boy
Who thought he could fly.
Climbing, Negotiating trees and their branches
Balancing on limbs with trapeize like stances.
But try as he will
He could not fly.
The best he colud do,
Was get 10 feet closer to the sky.
He'd stare at the stars
Not just a shooting glance.
Found himself lifted
Taken in a trance.
Although he was gorn
His feet were firm on the ground
Just A few more million light years
And his galaxy will be found.
Alien to all around him
He was a bad tempered child.
As ferocious as a kitten
Except more adventurous and wild.
His dreams flew like arrows
Leaving him and his bow behind.
Only wishing to be on the end of one,
His target he could not find.
He constantly found himself
Lost and out of range.
In a bad tempered fit
His room he did de-arrange.
Flights of fancy
Flights of angels from god.
Nothing could change him,
This boy was odd.
Grounded but high
He was not afraid to die.
His fear lay in people,
Those who did'nt see his view.
But being stuck up there
Who would really want to.
Scared and alone
He pushed himself to the edge
Up 13 stories
Looking down from the ledge.
It was out of curiosity and a thrill
Now it turns out he's mentally ill.
These fine lines he's taken to manhood
He may of been bad but his intentions were good.
He's flown grog down his gob hole.
He's flown a car into a light pole.
But his true flight lies in his soul.
Pete.
Copyright(C) Peter Riddoch 2004.
