Two poems I recently wrote. Questions, comments, critiques welcome Autumn Breeze Autumn cold Brings leaves of gold Who toss and scatter in the breeze And who could mourn Or feel forlorn When the very wind speaks words of ease? * * * Moon Light Moon light Silver sight Illumination in the night Shadows cast In silence vast A holy feeling unsurpassed Stars above Speak words of love As peaceful as a morning dove Time unfolds Night grows old Soon silver will bleed into gold And I alone Thrilled to the bone Stand fixed and silent as a stone
wow, that was quick, haha. I just posted the thing! Anyways, thank you. They were both crisp, clear moments, so I guess that came through, at least
The first was magical. I almost wish you would write a few more verses for it, so I could weave it into song. The second was good but some of your rhymes were cliched (love and dove...).
And who could mourn Or feel forlorn When the very wind speaks words of ease? Breathtaking..very few have the gift to say so much in only a few words, you do, I admire it
Your poems are very beautiful I really like this part... Stars above Speak words of love As peaceful as a morning dove That is lovely
I like the rhythm of moon light. Its kind of haunting...like footsteps of someone behind you. I liked the silver bleeding into gold too Love-Maxi.Xx
"Soon silver will bleed into gold" Strength is the intertwining of these two auras. Like an Arrow bursting through the frozen Earth, exploding the crisp Winter atmosphere with Rainbow, swirling into mist, and gone, gone, gone, from our emfeebled sight, leaving a Light in its wake beyond that which mere mortals can take. Walk, therefore, through that Dark Night, with Jackals at your side, barking the prophecy that Nightmare is yet to come; stay ever in the midst of those two Spiraling turrets atop the two Hills that uprise and jut and claw the Sky, ferally undulating with the plodding of your steps; plunge ever further into that barren valley - for therein lies the fruit of the Dawn, the plump Crescent of the Rising Sun, over-taking the feigned indifference and regal pretense of Lady Luna, and revealing the Deliciously Wicked, thrivingly inspired Scorn of her Love: an Intoxication with which we are smitten, again and again. Yet there is no need for resurrection - for that which we were, truly, our relation with Her, had never died. Yea, it had never died.
