Alaeha

For those who've read the story I posted the other day, The Last Step, this is a poetic retelling of it that I wrote before I wrote the prosaic version. For those who haven't... Well... Why not? Angel of Death Blue skies, white daisies, a beautiful day. Breezes blow lightly, young birds spread their wings. Amid all this beauty, too dark to be gray, A healer corrupted by sorrow now sings. He sings of the wonder of horrible pain, he snaps threads of life with a jerk. Tears flow from his eyes in a bounteous rain as his foes flee to shadows to lurk. The tears cease to flow as a fiery rage locks his anguish and sorrow and soul in a cage deep in Hell's darkest temples, deep down in his head. And then, on the inside, the Healer was dead. He struck without mercy, he struck without fear, he killed all, regardless of cost. He slew those he saw, whether far off or near. In a day, all the city was lost. Blue skies could be seen on this beautiful day, the sun shone from heaven above. The song of a sparrow, too sad to be gay, Told the tale of a soul lost for love. And the Angel of Death left a city that night, Where a child, once living, lay clutching a kite.

*Laughs* Under 20, and I see what you're saying. Perhaps I'm just odd. Glad to know I'm not the only person to write in verse anymore, though it sounds as if the poem is old, if you don't know who the author was. Or new and posted anonymously. I suppose it doesn't matter. There's a reason that I rarely watch the idiot box anymore...

Good poem... but I had been under the impression that life was a box of chocolate. Ahh well. But my dittos to Canid. And I'd probably add salt.

Ok, so this is one of my better pieces of work. Just posting it here to get opinions and to show that I'm not exclusively a poet. The next paragraph begins it. The grass had always been green in Helov. It was often said that there was no other place in the world that the birds sang so sweetly, or that the sun shone as brightly. And this was the most beautiful day in many years... There was not a cloud to be seen for miles about. A light breeze blew through town, just sufficient to cool those outside. For eleven months, not a sound had escaped the small house near the center of the city... It had been so long that some people had begun to suspect that Arian had left, and those who disagreed argued that he had died. Nobody was willing to go inside to answer the question. Over the months, the sense of unease that pervaded the area had driven those who lived there away... Even the birds dared not enter there. The door creaked open, hinges shrieking a protest against being used after such a long wait. From the house stepped a pale, gaunt figure in a black robe. Walking with an ease that belied his frail appearance, Arian left the old house behind. He had not gone thirty paces when it collapsed. * * * (Note: Please read the asterisks as if they were centered. That's how I intended them) Somehow, though the people of Helov had not changed visibly over the past year, they seemed different. Their laughter, their gossiping, their fun and games and joy, it all grated on his nerves. It all seemed petty and superficial. They were missing the point. Life was not about joy. He had learned that. It did not matter that soandso had won the tournament... Life was not about such trivial things. He had learned better than that. All that mattered was that you not lose. And he would not lose. These people would be the first to realize that. Walking to the center of the Town Square, he reflected for a moment, for a small part of himself remained unwilling to do what he knew he must do. These people deserved their fate. Zylaha died defending them. It was their fault that she had died, because if they had not existed, her oath to defend them would not have bound her to fight in a battle that she was doomed to lose. It was because of them that his heart had been ripped from his chest and shattered. And the Queen was no exception. She had been the one to accept Zylaha’s oath in the name of the People, so she was guiltier than the rest. The resistance within himself faded, and he began to extend his senses, until he could feel the life force of every being within the city. His master had once said that he was the most powerful Healer in centuries... That was no longer the case. He had ceased to be a Healer many months before. He had been to the darkest temples in the very heart of Hell in search of answers. And he had found them. With a short, bitter laugh, he turned his powers, for the first time, in a direction they had never before taken. His anger and hatred twisted his energies, and in an instant Helov was transformed. The grass would never again be green in Helov. The blood of the people spilled out in a flood, turning all the city red in the same moment that the curse struck the city. Until the day that the stars left the sky and all was darkness, the inhabitants of Helov would wander the city as shades, and Helov itself would be covered in blood.

Ok, so it's not daily... I was sick yesterday, so I've got an excuse. Besides, I'm going to start running out of decent poems if I keep this up... Darkness Darkness crowds closer, I’m lost in a maze I know not the way to get out of the lair of the monster which haunts me and hides in the haze as it reaches inside me and makes my soul bare. It dwells here within me, yet lurks near, without. My fears give it power and strength. It haunts me at night, till with fear I may shout but again it returns, though at length. There live in each one of us, Demons of fear of hatred, and loathing, and pain. They strike without warning, they simply draw near and the darkness draws closer again. The darkness draws close, and the demons abound for I’ve many a fear of my own. I cry out for help, but there’s no one around and it’s then that I know I’m alone. And the fears, they strike silently, never a sound And I fall among friends, fall unknown.

Very nice... I'm afraid I can't do much when it comes to critiquing... I'm a lyrical sort of person, as I'm sure you've noticed, so when people write in free verse, there's not much I can say. But hey! It seems good to me, and that's got to count for something, right?

Ok, here's my understanding as to the structure of a sonnet. A sonnet is written with the rhyme scheme of ABAB CDCD EFEF GG, or three quatrains and a couplet. It's written in Iambic Pentameter. (Five two syllable "feet" per line, with stress on the second syllable of the foot. Or if you prefer you may think of it as a ten syllable line with stress on the second, fourth, sixth, eighth and tenth syllables) As to the question of love as the subject... It doesn't have to be a love poem stating that you love another person. Shakespeare, Lord of the Sonnet and Master of Iambic Pentameter, used a sonnet at the beginning of his plays to summarize what the play would be about in much the same manner that people put little teasers on the back of a book or do trailers of a movie. In fact, for it to be a sonnet, it doesn't have to be romantic at all. My English Teacher has assigned that we write sonnets that are, in essence, letters from one character to another within the play Antigone. For those who've read that, it should go without saying that a letter from Antigone to Creon would be anything but romantic. It is a good poem though. Certainly, the idea of writing the unsonnet is appealing.

That annoying person that keeps posting poems here. I'm posting my favorites up here at the rate of one a day at this point... They won't be coming in at this rate forever though. Crossroads The questions are many, but answers are few. I've come to a crossroad, but what do I do? Decisions are called for, I must choose a way. 'Twould be rather easy, could I just obey. But directions are lacking, and I'm left to choose the path that I feel I should take. Oh won't someone tell me, or else fill my shoes? These decisions are painful to make. The questions are many, and answers are few, I've come to a crossroad, so what shall I do? I've found an adviser, a helper, a friend, who I'd trust with my life, though it could be my end. The questions are endless, each comes up anew, but answers are coming. I know what to do. I trust in you, friend. I once thought it unwise, but I cannot succeed with just one set of eyes. And I can't tell, myself, where my destiny lies.

A poem I wrote in honor of an acquaintance that just happened to share my surname. I thought it was worth sharing. Suicide She holds the knife tightly, her dearest, true friend. She tosses it gently, and end over end it soars through the air, till it finally lands in the grim, death-tight grip of her sweat covered hands. She thinks for a moment on what she will do, on things which she never has thought. She fears that she does something which she might rue but she knows it’s the answer she’s sought. For only in Death can she find her escape, in life there is nothing but pain. A use that cannot be called aught except rape. Shall she simply accept it again? Her hands shake but once, and once trembles her lip. She raises her arms, and she draws her last breath. She brings them back in with the knife in her grip, with a smile on her face, she finds solace in death. Her parents, they weep at the loss of their child, her friends at the loss of a friend. The anguish they feel drives some of them wild and they too, at their hands, meet their end.

Very nice. Congratulations on acceptance. I'm still waiting for a verdict on mine, I think. (Sorry, I'm not feeling very longwinded today...)

Bleh... sorry... Forgot to post email address. If you'd like to talk to me, email me at Benx2@earthlink.net or look for Alaeha on AIM.

An acquaintance recommended you after reading my poems, and from what I've read, I like this crowd. So here we go... Behold my application, one of my better poems: Blood and Tears She lies in a puddle, her blood slowly flows from her wounds as her life drips away. Her shirt, though once white, turns as red as a rose and in pain, doomed to die, there she’ll lay. He sits by a wall with a knife in his hand, he knows that he too will soon die. He’s killed all that fought for this renegade band and he now asks the dead only “Why?” “The two of us loved, we’d have lived lives of bliss. We’d never have hurt you, we left you alone. And now that you’ve hurt her, who I’ll sorely miss... You killed her, and only your lives could atone. You’ve taken the light and the good from the earth, her death leaves me empty and cold. I never have felt such great pain since my birth, so my soul, for revenge, I have sold.” Now a dark light fills the air, lifting the load he must bear. As he rises, so does she. His faces twists in agony. With a gasp he feels release, as his conscience’ workings cease. Then he leaves her to her fears, in the darkness disappears. In the deepest dark she sees rippling as if in a breeze one small puddle, blood and tears. As she falls down to her knees, she weeps at what her love has done. He ne’er again shall see the sun. With just a prayer that “this will do” she quickly ends her own life too.