Anyways, I got chosen to do a poetry workshop with Ray Mather, a published author and retired Drama teacher. He's a REALLY nice man and I think the opportunity of the workshop was great. I think I learned more on poetry and weaving in literary features in a poem... Alliteration, Metaphors, Similes, Signs&Symbols, list of 3...
So anyways, here's my poem. (I don't generally write poetry, so... *coughs*)
The world is webbed with the strands of a black veil.
I don’t see. I don’t listen.
No light filters through the dust to find me.
Once in the clouds
from the highest precipice.
Spiderwebs entangle my mind,
Strangle my voice,
seal my mouth with wax,
As one would do with a letter of importance.
Seal it so that it may look harmless.
So that it may not distribute
from eyes of stupidity.
My lips will be sealed then,
Smiles as false as the beauty of Circe
Will pull the corners of my mouth.
‘Fie! fie!’ They say. ‘You are a Janus.’
I am Stromboli’s little Marionette.
And time shall bring what only time may bring...
Once he is gone, I shall be on my own,
To wander the streets by moonlight underneath the rain,
To trip upon the cobblestones
And lie there in the dark
With no hand to pull me back to my feet.
The auburn flames that once
down the mountainsides
Will become no more than dying embers
And yet the scars on the landscapes of my heart will remain.
The charred arteries, flesh burned to a
A superbug, they call it.
They say it can’t be cured,
Just as a Bishop on a board can’t be cured of its gloom,
Its upturned mouth.
O, how I long to let that wax melt and bubble!
Under those auburn flames
So that my mouth may give way to speech
But all I can do now
Is to sit here and cross my fingers
And simply hope
for his survival
That the bug will not
Like a wind tears ash from
To scatter it into the wide,
For it to settle upon an endless prairie,
Lush and green, where
little blue forget-me-nots
Poke through the soil in spring
To outline his body and let it
Within their embrace, where he will lie
Cold as he once was warm in my arms,
Warmed and cooled
by the same summer and winter
As I am, and as I always will be.
But for now,
Let the trees weep their red loss with me
But it will return for them,
And not for me- for if he departs,
I shall never see the
For there is
And I will wander the streets alone at night,
Under the rain, all on my own.
with a fading hope.