Version Three
Ping Pong
it sat in my basement
untouched
my fate overlooked
brought to me
waiting no longer
previously overlooked, but then so
clear
my fate
pierced the walls of my ignorant denial
the foreign instrument,
rubber and wood
finished moves,
subconsciously calibrated
perfect
my old self,
bored and
lacking
wanting something unknown
my old self,
gone
the new one,
obsessed
never enough
always craving, the
control, the
pick pock, pick pock
a quickened heartbeat,
too complex and fast,
for the novice
freedom
only the rhythmic moves
and endless passion
freedom from boredom forevermore
my experienced rival
lost
fate
found
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"pierced the walls of my ignorant denial" loved that line! i really enjoyed how it was like a story.
ReplyDeleteGreat poem! I like the onomonopoeia "pick pock" that you used to give it more of an identity. The emphasis in the last three lines really helps make it a grand finale.
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