| | Mrs. Burnett had us writing image poems today, but I'm pretty much sick up and fed with poetry -- I don't particularly like writing it in the first place, but even though I've had a recent bout of poetic inspiration, I think that 4 or 5 poems within two weeks is more than enough for me. So, I experimented with drabbles instead -- here's the one I wrote in class, plus one I pieced together tonight from bits of unused story ideas.
Library
The fireplace-crackle of paper resounds against the rafters, echoing whispers of long-lost words. Listening to silent voices and the miniature fireworks of snapping spines is an ethereal, brittle feeling -- a feeling it would be impossible for me to live without. This place smells like leather and old dreams. The air is more wholesome, thicker, full of dust. Fairy dust. I breathe in deep, and I can’t help but think about how many other lungs have recycled this air already, and how many whispers have been lost in their soft exhales.
Just one more page... Let me dream a little longer.
------
Jungle
The evening is drawing on, sunset fading to the color of dried blood and rending the alleys with shadow-cuts, bone-deep and bleeding rats in the filthiest parts of the streets. The undergrowth is all of brittle newspaper and rotting dreams. Cockroaches screech their favorite discordant tunes to the dirty watercolor sky.
There is a lost beauty to this overgrown hedge maze, full of bottomless pits and poison nettles. Ghosts are still dancing the street-drifter waltz down every weed-strewn path, each step as magnificent and delicate as a newborn’s.
Tomorrow morning, the spires will be gilded with molten light once again.
------
further up and further in,
-rave |
| | Posted 1/31/2005 10:45 PM - 22 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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