This is, quite obviously, a triumphal song-poem. Sadly, I have forgotten the precise prompt that inspired me to write this entry, but it may have had something to do with auditory imagery. I’m really not even half this vain, but I was imagining some form of warrior composing a song to himself. I was trying to make it seem like the narrator was exaggerating hugely, but in a very good-natured sort of way. I wish people would still do this today! Well, I chose this poem to post because I really liked the rhythm, especially of the last two lines. I am not usually a composer of poems to the Self, and so I posted this because, to be frank, I will most likely not write another one. They are extremely nerve-wracking! It is a rather short poem, only two stanzas, and so I may actually come back later and edit it. (By the way, if you’ll notice the italicized ‘I’ in the last line, I italicized it to hint that no one else survived, only the victor. Ah, ha, ha!)
I hear yet now the crashing of a gong,
And the living, breathing cymbal crashes too.
The sun, compared to me, in others’ eyes
Seems dim, and the sky will seem less blue.
I fear no threat from flesh nor fish nor fowl;
I stand alone – an oak tree in a gale.
They came in droves, but I stood firm,
And I have lived to tell this tale.
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