Raindrops in my hair;
Cold stillness in the air.
The bugle notes pierce
Our hearts; beating fierce.
People; faces; words;
Distant; like southern birds.
Smiling to hide the fear;
Not meeting eyes clear.
Raindrops in my hair;
Blue balloons the wind bear.
The string slides though my hand
Rising high above the land.
*YAY!! Apricotpie is still up and running! Thank you James. :) I apologize for being so far behind with both commenting and posting, but life has been busy. I'd like to say that I'll catch up with commenting and such soon, but I'm in the middle of doing NaNoWriMo right now (why I decided to do it this year, I have no idea), and it looks like life will simply just get busier from here on. Anyway, this is a poem I had to write for my creative writing class at my community college. The style is based on an ancient Chinese form of writing poetry.**
I can't remember how I found AP. I think the first thing I read was Aisling's "You Know You're a Homeschooler When..." It was shortly after we moved overseas. I followed AP for a little while, but didn't really get involved. Then I stumbled across it again later and decided I wanted to stay for good that time around. I remember days I'd daydream about years from now when our children and grandchildren would be writing on here.
Normal 0 Thoughts, Ideas, questions and conclusions of a 5-year-old girl
Chapter one: If I was the president…
If I was the president, I would make it illegal for bad guys to have real guns, so they would only be able to have plastic ones, then the police men wouldn’t get shot by them.
If I was the president, It wouldn’t be called the white house, I would change it to the pink house and boys aren’t aloud in, and if they tried to get in I would have invisible ninjas come and put them in jail for the rest of forever!
I stare at the notice, blinking once, twice, thrice. Since I first saw it, I’ve tried to wrap my mind around it all, but I can’t—not yet.
I turn away and wander down the hall. Ten years’ worth of adventures adorns the walls, tales of knights, dragons and damsels, and strange worlds beyond understanding. Some of these works will be rolled up and taken to new locations; others will remain, quietly gathering dust.
The problem is, you’ve got to change the way you live entirely, he said.
I don’t understand, she said.
It’s not just about the visible anymore. Every moment is sacred, important. Even the secret things that nobody sees.
What do you mean?
I mean you’re no longer alone. You’re never actually by yourself. Everywhere you are, you bring God with you. You bring your eternal brothers and sisters. They may not even know it, but every action you take affects them. You can’t be an island anymore. You have to stop and think about everything.
That sounds so hard.
Sixty-Three
It was her sixty-third birthday.
Savannah stood by the front window, waiting and remembering Aidan’s sixty-third birthday two years ago. No party, no presents, no cake. Just the knock on the door and the van coming for her husband.
Emily McGirth followed her mother up the stairs to the second floor of the church and into the small conference room. When she reached the doorway, she saw a large mahogany table standing in the center, surrounded by grand black chairs. The furniture seemed to know that it was destined to host people that contained matters of great importance that required the comfort of the furniture to ease the pain of lengthy discussion. Their self-proclaimed magnificence made her feel underdressed in her jeans and T-shirt and unworthy in her youth.