Mira Posted September 29, 2004 Report Share Posted September 29, 2004 Oaken doors creek on dead, rusted hinges Within the deserted house of our love. This building is haunted, by ghosts of ourselves Who stumble and search for each other in the habitual dark. How did we get to this? What unholy host came and drove us away? Why were we so blind to build this house of clay, That melted and crumbled in the cold autumn rain. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tattered Posted September 30, 2004 Report Share Posted September 30, 2004 Wow, I wish I could write like that...That was amazing.... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mira Posted October 7, 2004 Author Report Share Posted October 7, 2004 Thanks. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
reverie Posted October 8, 2004 Report Share Posted October 8, 2004 Very nice mira... I can here the small quiet echos now... rev... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cyril Darkcloud Posted November 9, 2004 Report Share Posted November 9, 2004 (edited) A striking piece which is driven by several well-developed images. While I'm not sure that the piece as it stands is as effective as it could be, this is a bit of writing with much to recommend it. I'll work on putting together some thoughts for a Critics' Corner post which should be up in a day or two. In the meantime, this is well-worth a bump to the top to give those who might have missed it the first time around a chance to take a bit of time with it. Edited November 9, 2004 by Cyril Darkcloud Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mira Posted January 22, 2005 Author Report Share Posted January 22, 2005 With the help of Cyril's suggestions I've rewriten the second half of this peice. Oaken doors creek on dead, rusted hinges Within the deserted house of our love. This building is haunted, by ghosts of ourselves Who stumble and search for each other in the habitual dark. How did we get to this? How did we let the house, which stood so proud, fall into disrepair? With unanswered questions that poisoned the air. With sorrowful glances of fleeting despair. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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