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 A book to house all my Poetic Explorations |
The Tendrils of Life The world beneath this forlorn sky Battered painfully by their ceaseless cries Echoes linger down the abyss Reverberate back to trample Every ignoble souls Their ire won't quell, wrath won't subside Chained in continuous struggles To flee from their miserable lives Chasing happiness that's too swift Too slippery to take a hold Their stares were trenchant darts Piercing every piece of Him Yet He never gave up despite the swears Instead, had set foot on the ground In the land cursed by them He healed every furious soul Quelled their unquenchable ires Soothed and touched the wounds Brought by the fervent whips Of the tendrils of life These tendrils once whipped me like no end Until I bleed and lost my feel This land I found my first breath Fourteen years ago Pushed me to do the worst I feared to step this land of hate That wished for none but my bitter fate They wanted me not, They wanted my absence To get lost and vanish in oblivion Like a nightmare in everyone's sleep Here I am- lost, alone, frightened Everyone hated me, they wanted me... dead ** Image ID #2007161 Unavailable ** FIRST PLACE WINNER Form: FREE VERSE Prompt:  Image 1 Line Count: 32 lines Written for: "Invalid Item"  and "Invalid Item" Beneath the Bruised Sky, Rewrite The whispers of the wind carry whispers of woe, Beneath a sky bruised by countless tears that flow. Echoes of anguish dance on a desolate stage, Crushing spirits trapped in eternal rage. Theirs is a tempest, a fury unchained, A never-ending fight for solace unclaimed. They chase shadows of joy, ever quick and shy, While despair's tendrils twist to the heart's dry cry. Their eyes, sharp blades, pierce through and through, Seeking chinks in armor, scars they never knew. He stands unyielding, amid the storm's cruel din, A hand outstretched, where mercy may begin. He soothes the flames that lick at troubled souls, Quells the maelstrom where anger takes its toll. He mends the scars etched by life's bitter whip, Weaving whispers of hope with gentle lip. These tendrils, once my tormentors, tight and grim, Drew crimson tears, stole hope, and dimmed my light within. This land, my cradle, turned a battlefield, Where fourteen winters left my spirit chilled. Fear was my cloak, I walked in shadows deep, Hunted by hate, where nightmares learn to sleep. They longed for absence, a hollow space so wide, For me to vanish, in their darkness hide. But lost and lonely, I stand and raise my chin, The embers of defiance flicker from within. No longer victim, in the face of despair, I choose to rise, breathe hope into the air. Beneath the bruised sky, I'll carve my own way, Embrace the scars, greet each dawning day. With hands outstretched, I'll meet the pain and strife, And weave a tapestry of courage, sewn with life. |
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