quatrain revised #2

26 11 2007

Storm

The glass is weathered yet untouched
by hands; eyes feel all the coldness.
Words become harsher as I clutch
wooden pane and try to relax.
Times of happiness and love
seem never to unfold again,
I am left waiting for the dove
to make its mark on all humans.

As a child, I am so young
my parents’ fury and dismay
hits my soul constantly sung
as the leaves outside decay.

Sounds of anger and betrayal
echo along my neck, I grasp
the pane with strength, my all.
The last sound I heard was a gasp.
Thundering yells shake my small mass
my mind stripped of innocence.
Outside the wind carries in its clutch
a leaf letting it fly aimless.



Quatrain- revised

5 11 2007

Storm-revised 

The glass is weathered yet untouched
by hands; eyes feel all the coldness.
Words become harsher as I clutch
all the pane and try to regress.

Times of happiness and love
seem to never unfold again,
I am left waiting for the dove
to make its mark on all humans.

As a child, I am so young,
my parents’ fury and dismay
hits my soul constantly sung
as the leaves outside decay.

Sounds of anger and betrayal
echo along my neck, I grasp
the pane with strength, my all.
The last sound I heard was a gasp.

The glass is weathered yet untouched
by hands, eyes try to grasp kindness
outside; the wind carries in its clutch
a leaf letting it fly aimless.



first draft-quatrains

28 10 2007

The glass is weathered yet untouched
by hands; eyes feel all the coldness.
Words become harsher as I clutch
all the pane and try to regress.

Times of happiness and love
seem to never unfold again,
I am left waiting for the dove
to make its mark on all humans.

Sounds of anger and betrayal
echo along my neck, I grasp
the pane with strength, my all.
The last sound I heard was a gasp.

The glass is weathered yet untouched
by hands, eyes try to grasp kindness
outside; the wind carries in its clutch
a leaf letting it fly aimless.



first draft couplet poem

9 10 2007

Silk In the Forest 

Through the woods, I caught a glimpse of scarlet

silk weaving, and dancing a piroet. 

The grumble grinds deep from within myself.

Silk like apples laced with sweetness and health. 

I caught a glimpse of juvenile face,

approached the young cautiously just in case. 

Her hair was enclosed in a burgundy

hood her youthful voice sang sweet melody 

She would taste so luscious to me I thought

 so innocent, pure and what I sought.  Pleasantly spoke about her ailing kin

visit was vital not to be forgotten. 

The house was set simply over the hill,

I would race her there and beat her still. 

my witty self played well, hoax the old

woman, her body felt filling yet uncontrolled. 

Dressed in her gown, I waited for the girl,

my hunger still struck hard, beneath my fur 

the moment had come my dinner grew near

she opened the door, I told her to adhere 

she came closer the moment was present

I had what I wanted and finally went.