I stepped outside,
Felt the slap of winter’s
Icy breath
And stood beneath
The rain-soaked pines
Drops dripped
I looked up, fists clenched
And felt a wet ceiling above
A great ice wall betwixt me
And the sky
Unleashing and spitting upon me
Drops dripped
The Lord had taken my joy
I said
Had swept my feet from under
Like a scythe at harvest
My precious things in their
Full bloom,
Their life and blood on the earth
Drops dripped
Glass Heart
Note: This poem was inspired by the song Broken by Lifehouse.
The broken voices, they whisper,
drowning out the sound.
They all strive to remind me,
that you are not around.
The simple answers evade me.
They will not let me know.
Who it is that I am now
if I truly let you go?
How is it that I’m breathing
when I can’t even feel at all?
Chapter Two: Queen among the Narcissi
Blood stained Julian’s clothes, and he could do nothing about it. Caked mud had helped until it dried and fell away in chunks.
Goodness knew Julian had spent enough time in mud, trying to bury the old one with all the mourning rites he remembered. He had memorized quite a few in the time he had had to think about death—too much time out of his life.
I never asked his name.
It’s strange how people hurt you
Telling all their lies
Keeping all their secrets
Sharpening their knives
Whispering to others
Plotting your demise.
It’s strange how you trust people
At least, you do at first.
Until they’ve hurt you so many times
That you believe you’re cursed
Then they say that you were tricked
And that part is the worst.
It’s strange how someone loves you
And says he’s always there
Then, one day he’s gone
And it doesn’t seem fair
~Here ya go. It's incomplete, unpolished, and probably confusing, but here ya go. Based on a dream I had a while back. See the movie Rigoletto for something similar but better. :)~
**A poem of two perspectives. It was written while I thought about the two main characters of my (other) novel. Aida's people are a race descended from Dryads, and... well, I hate to give the plot away, so glean what you will from the poem.**
Gently, softly, silently.
The rain falls tonight.
Moving, pulling, flowing.
The wind blows it here and there.
Calming, carressing, healing.
The scars on the earth so bare.
Tenderly, soothingly, calming.
The rain falls tonight.
Riding through the dark; running from the grief and suffering of live; hiding from the hurt that it brought, the girl pushed her horse forward, never stopping, never looking back. She couldn’t go back, she couldn’t face the truth! The tears streamed down her face; the horse’s pace never slackened. “Away! Away!” his hooves seemed to say.
