The watch which hangs upon the wall, and ticks
to show that time has passed, is cold when I
caress it. Do I need a reason to fix
this moment in my mind? I see the sky
through the open window- clouds so dark
they turn the day to night, crowding in
the heavens, bordered by bowing trees. A spark
illuminates the world, and then my skin
trembles when the thunder follows. The storm
begins to rage in earnest, sending sheets
of rain into the earth. And yet, I’m warm
within these walls. Were I on the streets,
I’d surely feel it in my bones, that cold.
Beyond this angry storm- a sun of gold.
Haven't written a sonnet in a while, but then it stormed and my brain just exploded with the possibilities.
It's not perfect, but I'd have to say I'm pleased.
PS- I made cookies. Yum.
I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
1 comment:
i don't know, i think this is pretty close to [if not already] perfect. this would fit nicely in with all of my british literature from the last two quarters. haha and speaking of cookies, my dad made oatmeal last night and they were yummy too.
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