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Post by sergosa on Sept 7, 2009 11:52:06 GMT -6
Midnight, darkness, beginning.
Jagged torches flame.
Dreadful shades and faces.
Flooded with frenzy heads.
Scarlet light spots on the blades.
Dense with fury air.
Rapid stroke, pain, a spear ...
Not me, the others
Will loot a spoils.
I stayed forever in
Midnight, darkness, beginning.
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Post by anirbas on Sept 8, 2009 11:27:01 GMT -6
chilling scenario poetically described, Serg!
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Post by sergosa on Sept 8, 2009 11:34:35 GMT -6
Hi, Sabrina!
Thanks for comment!
I like things like this - something blurred from not mine memory, I guess ...
About chilling, well, reality much more disgusting to my mind. Alas, I'm not too much optimist, Ha-ha!
And, Sabrina, for what we are writing poems? To make our imagination free!
Best wishes.
Your friend Sergo.
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Post by anirbas on Sept 8, 2009 14:27:09 GMT -6
We are on the same page, Serg-reality is more chilling and disgusting than fantasy.
You say you are not an optimist and yet, much of what you write has an optimistic core to it...
Yes, sweets, we write poems to free our imagination, amongst various other reasons.
Thanks for best wishes and the same to you to you! Sabrina.
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Post by Sam on Sept 22, 2009 20:24:42 GMT -6
This is deep! I like it!!  Reality is the nightmare too often hidden beneath the lie... Once sugar-coated with fantasy... it takes on a new life Sam |
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