How long can you stretch a sentance...

[Canid]

He dreamed of misty distant lands

with icy peaks of covered snow

and wind alike the tearing hands

of giants treading midst the flow

of life against which they had held

a grudge and hence would bring them woe

in form of the torrential storms

which covered all in endless snow

for his mind had never seen

the light of life, joy of a dream,

and fell into the darkest pits,

of what becomes of lonely wits.

 

 

Just playing around... feel free to make one of your own - only one period per piece though! ".!"

Edited June 30, 2014 by Canid

[Gwaihir]

What an awesome idea! I love it Canid.

I love the poem too, it's so lyrical and pretty. A very nice ending too.

I'll have to try doing one too.

 

Slowly and carefully he took a breath,

Raising his instrument up to his lips,

Grinning, waiting and watching his cue,

Seeing two hands come and start to move,

Starting to play his part oh so quickly,

Hearing the trumpets swell-a bit too loud,

Hearing the flutes come in-quite out of tune,

Hearing his section play b naturals,

But all the same his fingers fly briskly,

Feeling almost as if he were alone,

As if the orchestra were somewhere else,

Hearing the room go dead-orchestra stopped

And the clarinetist played his solo.

 

(I used to be a clarinetist, and like the instrument : )

Edited by: gwaihir1 at: 11/10/02 8:44:04 pm

[Guest Tyrunn Alberyn]

When tears rained down,

from skies above,

he felt too lost,

to dream of love,

and thus he hoped,

to say the words,

that she longs for,

wishing for eternity,

spent in heav'nly bliss,

as brought on by the ones,

with th'angelic visions,

that never would demand,

but rather would be giving,

a smile upon your face,

and if he finds his love,

on his and hers as well.

 

---

 

Hrmmm, reminds me of the run-on thing, but then with poetry. Way cool

[Peredhil]

His hands once shaped

The beauty of her face,

His fingers once played

The melody of her sighs,

Shuddered intaken breaths,

(Soft whispers cries),

But the ashes of their joy

Rebuke the memories of the past,

A poignant reminder that

Joys aren't meant to last -

So hold onto the present

And enjoy e'er waking thought,

For present delerious happiness

Is often dearly bought.

 

 

 

"A man's judgment is best when he can forget himself and any reputation he may have acquired and can concentrate wholly on making the right decisions."

 

-ADM Raymond A. Spruance

[SoaringIcarus]

OOC: Viva semicolons! And I find it quite amusing how ‘teachers’ can be read as ‘treacherous’ if skimmed.

 

If you loved something, they told me,

There would always be time for it;

Music, writing, or mapping the forest

None was too large that you must ignore it

 

Yet time has grown thin

With an ‘in-box’ now bloated

Banishing my grin,

(And away it floated)

As if the very gods had voted

For my toiling isolation

For even all of my devotion

Collapsed in defeat against teachers notions;

 

A book, a chat, the time of day

All, before work, had withered away

Into ‘could’s and ‘would’s but never ‘am’s

Alas, the victor was always exams;

 

I do not have time for whims and fancies

Philosophical dreaming or Sci-Fi zombies

Because I must tend to the forms

Lest they shall be eaten by worms

Or whatever happens when they’re left stagnant

Ah yes, I remember: next year in the basement.

 

 

Edited by: SoaringIcarus at: 11/13/02 12:47:19 pm