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Carousel

The horse most decorated in purple
Always the one I chose.
Turning axle rock me
Around and around and around and around.
Lean in close
The smell of tarnished brass.
I feel the rhythmic heart of gold
Drive me
With organ pipes of exuberance.
Five years old
And my father had to lift
His princess to her throne.

Giggling up and down
The scenery never changes.
Faces blur but remain stationary.
I'm the changer.
Spectators lost in the sauce
Wave without a care
And disappear around the circle.
To ignore is to insult
Though I'm old enough.
I ride alone
And they become the hypocrites.

Reigned horses grimace
Chafing at the bit of age.
Smiles fail to counter
Towering fears.
Illogical and uncontrollable
Spinning out and away
I see but cannot reach
The mechanical origins.
Helplessly dangle.
Too high to get down
Try anyways.
But delve just too far
And tumble to the earth.




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AnnaEK said...
Apr. 13, 2009 at 12:18 am:
I used to be terrified of carousels. I was always scared I would be thrown of when the horse was at the highest and the carousel moving to its fastest. I could only ride on the sleighs because they didn't move, I could keep my feet on the ground, and I could cling to the edge without my hands feeling like they would slip off. But I always loved looking at the horses and the other animals. I would just stand and watch them if my mom wouldn't let me get on. This poem reminds of that. I... (more »)
 
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