Lands Of Old

• Miles Pearson, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2015

The waves crash together like angry Titans,
crawling and clawing,
trying to escape from the depths.
The rock cliff face,
broad and strong, as if hewn from black stone by great Gods of old.
The sky, illuminated by terrible streaks of blinding light,
flies grey mountains of bitter and ice.
Atop the cliff, there lies a lone tree, tall and proud,
it’s bark old and it’s trunk thick
dark green leaves blanket it
and roots of stone grasp the earth.
Here now lies the lands of old,
wild and untamed.
With power and greatness,
brings Gods and Titans.
Here now, lies the lands of mine.