Poem Hunter
(1948 / OVER 400 POEMS SERVED! !)


In the dead museum
obligation sits, rusting,
a suit of armor
we only just found out
contains a living man.

Why has he been
so quiet all these years?
Why did he just
stand there,
arms at his sides?

A little oil,
and the joints
begin to move.

He takes a step,
lurches off his pedestal,
clanks crazily
toward the front door.

Sounds of frantic
scraping from inside.
He shakes the arm guards,
they clang upon the floor.
He tries to run,
leggings rattling,
pulls the helmet off.

Standing in the doorway
he is gulping
fresh air like a fish.
Young, eager, free,
he races out
into the sunlight.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 1 votes ) 4

Comments (4)

Jim pointed me to this poem Max and I have to concur. It's got some most vivid imagery in here and makes for a very entertaining read. Excellent. HG: -)
Max, This is sheer wizardry. You took the load right off this guy, and he hopscotched it straight away! Does it weight that heavily on us all - well those who carry them! You created such a pristine sensation of freedom in the last few lines that I could taste it, felt younger and wanted to run too. But I didn't. I just watched your much more credible individual take off into the sunlight... vicarious freedom's better than none at all! Such craftmanship. (Sue's comment would make a poem on its own!) jim
i absolutely loved it.
Fresh air will kill a fish.