Poem A Week

Poem A Week

Are you up for the challenge?

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  • Created Mon Dec 10, 2018 8:02 pm

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burbujas (herb)

16 posts in this topic.

  1. herb
    herb · Feb 23, 2025
    i fell into the margins of lake and hill,
    wisps of raindrops grazing the firmament
    and i winced at the stream back home,
    its icy-cold rapids eating away at my body
    heat like the desert yearns for the oasis,
    i rot, i rot like the seafoam on the shore,
    i rot like the burble of the creek as it
    washes over the corpses and it washes
    over my sin. i rot like a stagnant pond.


    and all the same, the stairwell is still soaked.


It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien