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A Moment of Triumph

Poetry By: kukaburry

Tags: Golf, Victory

This is the memory of my first eagle on the golf course.

Submitted:May 27, 2010    Reads: 54    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

Plodding through naked grassland.

Ears bewitched by the emerald flute.

The hazy red of silence tortures my eyes

and tantalizes my tongue with its sweetness.

A decapitated fern leans dejectedly against its brother.

The black fog of exhaustion

immerses itself deep within my bones.

The continuous chatter of sweat permeates through a nylon glove.

My soul bent upon the speared cup

set high on the sweeping terrace.

I hesitate longer, exhaling splintery doubts.

Foreman of the bag choking in my grasp,

a slice of earth lays wrenched from its roots.

I saunter forward, thriving on pressure,

soaking up the dullness of time.

Arms thrust high towards blue hope that hovers above.

The sphere of lust trapped within a billow

falling, falling.

A leap over the hurdle as it confronts the tender darkness.

Now a fist escalates

as triumph reigns.

The reflection of an eagle echoes through grey eyes.


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