Sure, it's lyric poetry, why not?
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People oft grow together slowly,
As trees reach across an old stone wall,
Entangling roots and crossing slender branches
Till one can barely tell twixt the tangle
Which comes from which.
And thou'st become part of my life slowly,
As music, oft played, lives in the heart,
Shaping its surroundings to its beauty,
Mirroring the sanctum of its source.
I've come to this realization slowly,
As a deer stands at a clearing, nostrils wide,
Quivers rippling down its delicate legs,
Eyes resigned as lakes await the wind.
Say, my gentle friend,
What thou must tell me slowly,
Whither my love is also thine, as the sun
Rises or sets over a tranquil valley,
Filling the heart with more than it can hold.
Points:
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Canary word: Present
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125,014 Literary Works • 672,845 Reviews
This was awsome. No grammar mistakes or spelling mistake that I could find, and the old English words really added a nice ambiance and belivability to the feeling of it. THe commas are kind of distracting though, maybe fewer would be better.
W-o-w.
Great as always, Gal.
aw, gal, i love it too. and why does poetry always have to have a meaning? jw..
excellent analogy.
I quite like it, but I agree with Sabine: it's kind of meaningless and doesn't convey much of a point. However, the language and images are beautiful, so that more than makes up for it. Great work.
i love it gal!!
(this is actually me this time. me as in me me, not me as in the me that was me the night before, because that wasnt me, that was a different me, as in... not me. ok it was gal.)
Uhm, this is Galatea replying from a different computer:
Yay! Thank you so much for using an art comparison I understood! You are my hero, Sabine.
I was just playing with words here, really. It was. . . especially inspired, however.
Thankies!
very beautiful. tranquil. I enjoyed your use of the language.there's something oblique and undefined about it, which is god and bad, depeding on your perspective. it's enjoyable but doesn't creat a very large reaction. A bit of Renoir in the midst of Picasso and Mondrian and Hayoa Miazaki. Renoir is my favorite impressionist, all that light. this poem evoke the feling of spring light.