Silver WInd

Thank you

Second draft: The world knew no other song but the twitter of the birds dancing upon the clouds, and there was no melody but the brush of the wind through trembling leaves among the trees. A soft trickle from a gentle flowing stream resending into the thunderous roar of a great waterfall or the oceans rapid beating waves. A percussion of a thunderstorm and woodwind whistles from the will-o-wisps falling with a soft cymbal tinkling of rain drops, these are the sounds the songs, the melody of the world.

Masquerade Her eyes watched from behind the mask while the music played from somewhere far away Drawn by the song she drifted away, leaving a trail of feathers in her wake Ascending each marble step within the spiral, alone but for the burning flame, hidden away in the shadows She accelerates with each stroke that beckons and guides her way; heart beating faster for fear the silence will come before she uncovers the mistro Images dance within her head lust and love clashing together, cloaked behind crimson curtains draping along dark windows A moment that stretches on beyond time; lost within the maze, dazzled by each new disguise which passes over watching eyes Her fingers slide along the wall which undulates before the fall of the melody A keystroke rings the chime of a clock; the witching hour struck its final tune and there the costumes fall away A dream that shimmers to unravel and beneath the veil reveals the truth which falls like a hammer of a heartbeat Yet there remains upon the floor a fallen mask and a few floating feathers bejeweled in black pearls and ribbons of silk.

Dawn A New Day Spread my wings and fly away Shed a tear and hide away Close my eyes and dream a new day On my knees begging you to stay If I could breathe I'd run away Never a word I can say Spread your wings and carry me away Together we will enter a brand new day You always know the words to say From this world you'll hide me away I know in your arms forever I'll stay.

I like the basic idea behind this poem, but I feel over all it is weak and could use some work, any suggestions welcome The world knew no other song, then the twiter of birds dancing upon the clouds the brush of the wind through trembling leaves within the trees. A soft trickle from a gentle flowing stream, and the thunderous roar of a great waterfall, oceans rapid beating waves. The procussions of a tunderstorm wooodwind whistles of will-o-wisps and soft cymbol tinkaling of rain drops.

Maelstrom Still the beating heart a breath of the wind gentle strokes rake the skin Stirring deep emotions to tempt rising fires tangled in the vines dance upon the air Steal the soul away into the labyrinthine caves lost through the ages sacred wells of pulsing power Where the voices never die, a whisper always in the sea awakening tampered dreams Visions blurred in illusion opium dream of long distant lands balanced on the rocky ledge Fall away into the Maelstrom and stare deep into those dead eyes where once the moon is hovering Before the dragons mouth swallows down the egg and sheds its scales chocking on its tail.

Thank you for your comments as always

I really like it, I thought it was very tocuhing at the end. A rather interesting concept. It seemed to me to be about the muse.

This is beautiful, it paints such a lovely image. I love your use of langague

Sunburst Suns fire burst streaked across the sapphire sky golden yellow radiance reflected its own image in the sparkling lapis lazuli waters down below.

Gossamer Wings A tear in the gossamer wings the powder begins to flake away while flight becomes impossible only a reoccurring dream such colors that no longer mean anything overtime will begin to fade weighted down by the pressed print made another's mark born like a brand A shred of iridescence no longer each band of vibrance speaking as one in a single voice now just guttural sounds a lesson in aesthetics how quick anything can be made ugly with only a twist of asymmetrical disharmony Tears tumble down only to wash away the essence now trapped within the self-made bubble understanding begins to seep in how gossamer can decay and leave in its place only echoes of former beings unable to survive outside psychedelics.

Sun Child She was raised in the sun a sun with heavy lided eyes that never did wink; stretched across the sky languidly Crowned in golden light, she liked to dance among the flowers, flowers of yellow that never slept And above in the sky the bright fire-orange eye watched with a steady gaze that grazed upon the skin She never dreamed for she never closed her eyes, but she danced in fields of amber in the light of day; a day that is never vanquished A child cradled in warmth and radiance, her eyes seemed to shine in illuminated innocence born by the shield from darkness and shadows Yet only a half-lived life beneath the watch of a sun that never smiled without a purpose.

Thank you. I offered the explaination just to clearify Yog's questions. Currently the poem is still a work in progress.

Thank you, it has given me something to think about and ponder over.

It is sort of mythology based. The basic idea behind the poem is about an ancient and surperior race which had once lived long before man kind, but with the birth of humans, they began to be pushed out by the human race, and now humanity is destorying the world, and there is nothing those who lived before can do to stop it, and they are regretful that they did not try and act and stop mankind before it was too late.

I really like this, I love the reaccuring circle them, and the concept of the cycle. It also has some great imagery

I feel there is something off about this poem, and that it is not quite complete. It is not strong enough for my personal taste, but I still like the overall concept of it, but I cannot put my finger on what is lacking. Any suggestions welcome. The Old Ones We have lived for over 100 years we know what has begun but now we feel the end is near. So alas we may finally rest for so much that has been lost we'll just fade away into the night, night that will last for eternity in the dark we can close our eyes and never think again of what was compromised. The earth is no longer ours powerless we watched it taken now at last they destroy themselves, and release us from our bonds to embrace the sweet oblivion maybe soon there we can forget. Our memories erased and pain obliterated of our loss and our guilt. For all we should have been able to rise our voice strike a fist but already weary we let it pass gave way to the dying age now we just want to disappear cling to some remaining visions before the last remnants evaporate.

No I do not mind, but the revised version has too much of a "contemporary" look and feel to it for my usual personal taste. I will write in more contemporary styles and forms only on rare occasions and when I am using it to make a specific point.

I like it

The Death of a Swan Stolen waters frozen in time by winters breath chilled tombs the houses of the dead beauty found among the graves rigid they stand in the wake But a hush with ghost like appeal in the way the feathers dance corpse like elegance for the ones that are symbols of romance Gentle are the leaves that scatter adrift upon the water where reflections gaze back with the eyes of the moon and death But to embrace this sweet darkness feel the pulse it offers here there dwells the deep true soul.

This is beautiful with such lovely imagery

Thank you for your coments as always

A Girl With No Name There was a girl who had eyes that saw the world in a gleam of harsh yellow light for just a moment for those who know all is revealed. She had the touch the curse which was given through the metallic nights of black and yellow somewhere dusty and rank where the roaches can watch. She could fathom herself a Madonna her tears the stigmata but it was upon her thighs she bleeds. How could such a one have any end but a tragic one her body left but there would be none to make a Saint of her as she lay unknown just as soon forgotten.

Oh wow, I really like this. Wonderfully done. It evokes such strong emotion.

Life Force A page is just waiting for a name the fresh ink through which it can breath and pulse with life. The force that holds within all those withering souls for once set free as they are spoken. You can almost hear the whispers is it your release or the tightening of chains. Struggling with this creation, unfolding peel by peel. Questions of mortality truth obscured reviving the corpse to spring before the eye.