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User Rating:
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10.0
/10
(6 votes)
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A child's ear on the track listening
to low vibrations first. Slight fear
and trepidations hum.
Ensuing rumblings echo within
the stomach lining, sending
warnings to the brain stem.
'Move' echoes throughout
the nerves. Premonitions
create a sense of pending doom.
And still you lie, wanting
the chills racing up and down
the spine, adrenaline rushing.
As the ground eventually shakes
your body begins to scream
with life forces surging.
'Jump' is now a prayer
whispered by the lush green
grass and your unborn
children watching, weeping.
Cheryl Lynn Moyer
| Submitted Date |
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Friday, June 15, 2007 |
| Submitted Date |
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Saturday, March 12, 2011 |
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Comments about this poem (Chicken
by
Cheryl Lynn Moyer
) |
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Scarlett Treat (7/26/2007 2:10:00 PM)
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Wrong game idea led me to this one...we played a different form of chicken when I was younger...but just as deadly...and I have to wonder now...had I lost what little bit of mind I had, to take chances like that? The answer is yes...because I was a teen-ager! Older and wiser now, I see the danger, and you have expressed it more clearly than anything I ever read...
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Shelby messed (7/25/2007 1:29:00 PM)
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this is exacly how i feel it is like you can really relate
thanks shelby
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Gold Flower (7/25/2007 10:29:00 AM)
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Oh how wonderful thy poem may be!
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Roger Bowman (7/20/2007 5:46:00 PM)
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I agree with Lizbeth plus playin chicken is the ''safe'' way of the lazy people's tray..
all the best
roger
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Not a member No 6 (6/18/2007 1:34:00 PM)
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Captures the thrill of the deadly, chillingly and eloquently.
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Read all
5
comments >>
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