Treasure Island

Bob Fletcher

(December 25th 1954 / London)

The Giant


The giant sits swathed in lights
It’s metal mind alert
It points toward the lightening sky
heralding the dawn

The cacophony and hubbub
has lessened in these hours
and tension has replaced the chatter
heard amongst the towers

the giant is full
electronic whispers urge internal changes
that cannot be ignored
a demon is unleashed

heat and pressure pushing
pushing relentlessly upward
toward the point of destruction
willing the giant to free its chains

Clamps blow and release
Millions of pounds of thrust
Propel the giant from the Earth
Beyond its bonds and into the silent void

Submitted: Friday, October 11, 2013
Edited: Friday, October 11, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Its the Space nut inside me -sorry

Bob

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