In the dark bliss, under the pale moon. Vines that all twist in love's tender bloom
Finally after a few minutes, with the pile of ashes at his feet growing to a sizeable hill, his fingers struck the hard, solid wood. He widened the hole so they could see more easily, and he removed one more large chunk. They both gawked at the sight.
There are some rather odd and ridiculous sayings that come to mind under the influence of such mischievous quiddities as whiskey and autumntime.
I have never been one to revisit or edit anything I write... but I realized that can be as counter-productive as editing too much, and I know there is a fine line in there somewhere. This is the beginning of a journey I'm hoping to take regularly not only to improve my writing, but to inspire myself into potentially writing something completely brand new that is more polished and well-thought-out from the very start, and thus improve my writing overall. This poem was initially written to be turned into a song, and as such, is simple for the sake of rhyme and meter. I tried to maintain that stylistically, to a degree, though I was fighting myself to make it more eloquent yet unwieldy for use as lyrics. I may revisit it again someday and simply make it the best poem it can be. My hope is for this interpretation to clarify some of the meaning intended.
Our remnants cling desperately to that tree To see one more winter turn into spring Scars cling to life that once killed me Never quite gone, it's always just fading Carve
I loved flying kites when I was little... The way they bobbed and swayed upon invisible, tumultuous waves. The way they could be seen by friends, near and far, both close friends and formerly unknown folks, and silently call a gathering that would add to the fleet of flying vessels across the town. My mother... Continue Reading →
Waiting for inspiration to strike With lightning as the Archetype And this... This is my flaw Yes, this is the primeval turnpike I hasten to chase east winds, and ripe The pith... Such is the dawn This childish heart... seasons are the dike Patience like a typhoon and stipe And I... Not yet a shaw... Continue Reading →