April crammed into 10 days

4 posts
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Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things
are cultivated. For these there is hope.
They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only
Beauty.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.
Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.


Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray.


Hopefully my first attempt at Napo won't be a fail. *fingers-crossed*
****
'Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.'

-Sarah Williams




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1] The Cherry-Blossom Tree

The first time I dreamt of the lone tree
Night had spread its blanket of stars over the sky.
rooted humbly beside the lake,it stood
every bent, every branch adorned with white buds.
I laid leaning against it as
the dancing Wind’s melody of spring
lulled me into hopeful slumber.

The second time I dreamt of the lone tree
Twilight had painted soft hues onto the sky
under the beam of the rising sun
the pink petalled jewels of the lone tree glimmered.
I sat in front of it,
watched as the fluttering butterflies paid their tribute,
until Sleep shook me awake.

The last time I dreamt of the lone tree
Winter’s harsh breath had suffocated the night sky.
Frost had set on the naked, gnarled branches of my tree,
garlands of blossoms buried underneath the moondust.
The butterflies disappeared and the wind howled and
I stood there watching the garlands wither,
till the thorns of grief roused me from my slumber.

Every night, as darkness sings me to sleep,
I pray that I visit the garden in my dreams again.
One last time.
To adorn a wreath of my hopes and love
on the grave of my cherry-blossom tree.
****
'Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.'

-Sarah Williams




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Points 190
Reviews 10
2]

He is afraid.
No-- no, he's terrified.
I see the strings of fear
tied to his limbs.
Fear, like a puppeteer controls him.
I can hear his surging heart slamming
against the bone-bars of its prison.
Paralyzed droplets of moisture
cast clear shadows on his eyes.
I can feel his fingers trembling
against his stiff body.
His entire being screaming
at cemented feet to
Run. Hide. Escape.
Anywhere but here.
But his body,
with sheer terror, is frozen.

Thorns prick my lungs,
as tendrils of realization choke me.
He is afraid.
He is so very afraid..
..of me.
****
'Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.'

-Sarah Williams




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Ah! Why are there only two!

I want to know more about this guy in Poem 2! Where's the rest of your NaPo? Keep going!! You still have a day!



"The trouble with Borrowing another mind was, you always felt out of place when you got back to your own body, and Granny was the first person ever to read the mind of a building. Now she was feeling big and gritty and full of passages. 'Are you all right?' Granny nodded, and opened her windows. She extended her east and west wings and tried to concentrate on the tiny cup held in her pillars."
— Terry Pratchett, Discworld: Equal Rites