This decastich ( a poem or stanza of 10 lines,this one is a poem ) is written in iambic tetrameter ( Although, it doesn't have to be written in a specific meter! It's your pen after all! XD ) which's much kindred to the composition of a rhyming couplet but in the end it isn't. P.S : This is my first try! :D The one-liner show will resume from tomorrow!
I looked at the flocculent pink clouds,
The kith and kin with the azure.
As if this extoling was from rambunctious louts,
Little did I know the seditious seizure.
The vista of it was utterly soul-soothing,
Or perhaps that's what I boorishly thought.
The clouds spewed grey tints and t'was it alluding,
For lanthorn's of black kismet was to concoct.
Could the lives of us be entirely kaput ?
Annihilation ricocheting and profusely engulfing me,
Don't snub 'bout that until there's in an input.
The smile under my jowl faltering and 's blue.
My hands are remorsefully twiddling,
Couldn't cease to stop that.
I could see the cogent cinders blazing,
Beads of sweat trickling down morbid smooth and flat.
I tenaciously clutch the non-blasphemous rosary,
Awaiting home are my loved ones.
I picture in my mind the abandoned rosemary,
Forlorn and tussling to be cooked by a hun.
The red alarms are blaring,
Perhaps this wasn't an impeccable ride.
Why have I pivoted to the left while meandering ?
Lemme just stop my rambling stride.
The petrichor wafting as beckoning death,
The time has come ; They all chant.
I tediously typed that I loved them and 're my breath,
My ride is entirely cladding and aslant.
Preposterous swaggering by the behemoth,
I'm gonna drown into the pool of afterlife.
Running more insipid than a pyrrhic falabella,
Gossamer threads as the eiderdown to be my wife.
Lucrative won't this be,
I remember that soporific me slept a lot.
Alas! Is it time to lay down my eyes to thy vassal to marquee,
Betwixt and bequeath will be my knell the rapport.
Falabella : A type of horse Insipid : Tasteless Lucrative : giving profit Cladding : To enclose something Blasphemous : Insulting god Cogent : An argument which is kinda sensible
Preposterous : Funny Rambunctious: Boisterous (wild,cheerful,blissful) Kaput : Entirely destroyed Flocculent : An item or something resembling tufts of wool
// The prick of a needle can't be that painful. Can it? //
"Yes. It can." I gently replied
// Ohh, really ? Which one.//
"Cleopatra's needle at London." I said with a sigh
// Man! You are nuts!?.//
Facile to say that I heard these words all the time. Don't think of me as a lunatic who's lost her mind. Perhaps, it'll all make sense if you know 'bout my life. I could start at any point of my life and more than you would expect, it ain't a happy story.
I've been incessantly told that I inherited my mother's emerald-green eyes, peach-blonde hair and her blithesome smile. Well my smile was simply caducous yet saturnine : Falling down real quick as if you're riding on a rollercoaster.
Speaking of rollercoasters, I think you'll find my life as a huge rollercoaster oscillating up and down with my heart palpitating. To make matters simple, I lost my mom and I stay at London with Muffin; My pet cat. He has ears which 're abnormal for any cat and his tail looks exactly like a
Ever since, my mom left I have been wearing these sort of "Who-knows-they-may-protect-you" talismans or amulets o'er my neck. To be honest, I don't believe in these cheap things, my amulet looks akin to a killer-alien or something and Carter's is just an eye : The eye of Horus you could say.
That was a talk of the past until I found out that muffin was disguised as Bastet : The Egyptian god of fertility, cats, protection and etc. Yes. Muffin was indeed a black horse in our family. This cat has been in our family for as long as I can remember, while her true divine version is of a supple muliebrity figure.
As I mentioned the word "family" a lot of times ; Certainly not an iota of that. As said earlier, my dad is obsessed with Egypt. I think the sobriquet "Egyptologist" impeccably suits him with out a further doubt. Ironically, my dad is an Egyptologist. You might be like : "Oh Sadie! You're lucky to go and visit the mummies and see the sarcophaguses !." Nope.My brother, Carter can explain that. Well, I do have a few references for that. Take this for example:
On last Christmas eve, me and my brother were standing at the foyer of the British Museum. I could see the Rosetta Stone scraggly scribbled with hieroglyphs which looked far more worse than staring at the math numbers on my textbook. I definitely earned a cheesed-off look on my face. That was just the beginning until dad took a boomerang and tried to write something on that stone and voila! Osiris appears! That was when I found out that I was connected to the pharaoh's and so-called "legends", wizards and magicians of Egypt.
So far, my life has not been cool and ubiquitous voices of : " A needle's prick can't be that bad.", were enwreathing me like actual dreck. I miss my mom's berceuses, smiles and care if it hadn't been the death of her on an ominous night at Cleopatra's needle : An obelisk which swaggered at the days and nights as if proud to take my mom from my life.
Pardon me for the long read guys! I just got into some feeling and wrote this as inspired by reading the Kane Chronicles by Rick Riordan.
Macabre- Disturbing because concerned or fear with death
Palpitating - The heart beating at a rapid or unusual pace
Vociferating - To scream or shout vehemently
Colleen - a young woman or girl
I may have not know your true worth until I espied you. There were tussles and kerfuffle's enwreathing me. The aura of aphotic darkness. Out of all the dreck, you allude me to shed a piece of worldly wisdom. T'was the draughty ,cold nights that espied me tenaciously clinging to the diaphanous bedsheet. Those immarcescible days. No one ever seemed to stand truculent 'side me.
The nuances were axiomatic until I caught you. I come home with a smile under my jowl. Baffling was your poesis but it always brought a smize. The lachrymose caprices in me were gone, my hair was always a messy chignon. All my sweven's came true as I saw the suede orchid's doing a schottische, licentious flowers swaggering, butterflies soaring high in the azure and squirrels skittering and swaggering 'cross the crimson-shade avar. This is an impeccable epitome of living in caelum.
Be my steward through my life's journey as if in a train. I always used to lament those elegiac kismet of mine. Until I knew that it wasn't fate. For that's when I remember to magnanimous and loved thy loved ones. You're a lagniappe in my life : Always be one. My monogamous, voguish nepenthe and anodyne.
// Dad, where are you ?
Why can't you just scream or shout.
Don't make me feel blue.
Don't make me a lout.//
These are the lines I wrote last month in my diary, I couldn't quell the battle 'tween my loneliness in this world. The mundane humdrum's were incessantly singing, driving me entirely nuts by each second. I knew my mother merely for a couple of days until she was gone. My father was worse than you could imagine. I think all demi-gods or half-bloods gotta deal with this. Your life sucks ? Lemme tell mine and at the end, I don't think you would be like : '' What a poor boy !? I'm really sorry for everything that happened to you.''
Cut the sympathy guys, it's over. It ain't gonna be a bonanza to me. My life is far more worse than you could imagine.
// Calescent is the sun,
T'was for everyone but not for me.
For only the scalding things which 're not fun,
Is you and her not being here has lost my glee.//
Ever since my Uncle Randolph told me that I'm the son of Frey : A Norse god, things have really started to go downhill.
It feels like I've been hauled towards incessantly. A pair of perilous eyes seemed to be flaring at me. In fact, I have seen those eyes before. It ain't a quondam for me to witness such uncanny things. As it's winter , I have listened to the chortles of kids inside with their family, inviting guests and having a succulent meal. Well I never made it that far, my music was querulous hollers of the truant police officers of Boston.At night, it's a do-or-die game for me. I gotta take the risks and jimmy up a shop to scramble up some food , or I just sleep the night by an empty stomach.
I would ramble and meander 'cross the sun-dappled streets of Boston , from the morning searching for food and a place to cry. At night, I would relish the moments when the zephyr's benignly cosset my diaphanous chestnut-brown hair.
The sun may be scorching hot for everyone , as if a jug of hot lava is poured on you and it trickles down your spine, scalding you and in the end you're a crumpled piece of paper. Well for me. it's just that my parents don't exist : That burns me the most in my heart.
// Her eyes are of smaragdine shades,
A lagniappe in my life.
Her freckled skin below her eyes fade, As if a star fades with strife.//
Don't consider me mooching on the bed and counting the stars in the night sky as a bombshell. The last trip I've been with her is hiking on the hills, I used to notoriously count the freckles under her cotton like skin. Alas ! I couldn't.There were too many : resembling like stars skittering 'cross the night sky. For she was the fulgent one in my night sky. Her curvaceous figure and emerald-green eyes : Just like the gem of an emerald in my life. Such a petulant thing was it too lose this gem.
// I just wanna hear her berceuses,
Her finger running through my hair.
For all peace vamoose,
Posthaste and trenchant emotions as if I'm flying in air.//
At first, music was amalgam of cymbal's clamor. For now, as I lost her, gyve's and fetter's emaciate me. My only music seemed to be her lullabies sung. No matter the number of cudgel's impale me, her ditties cure everything.
// Can't I see you guys for the last time ?
I'm not ready for this world,
Perhaps, it'just a nightmare : Not sublime.
I can't live in this cruel place as I'm swirled.//
I stare at the empty white plate hoping to kill those hunger pangs in my stomach. Alas ! I just want these midnight cassettes to be your berceuses : That's all I wish for.
An enchidirion of berceuses, don't treat me as waif. For I am the son of Frey : A lost heir
Words are small little pieces of you . Said unsaid . They are poems that bloom like daisies but wither away with each rainfall of doubt . Words are stories that you try digging from underneath footprints of time . Some bring back memories that curve your solemn lips into a smile ..whilst some you'd rather not read again .
Words are verses that you so tried to rhyme . But failed miserably each time . You try capturing them into Metrical lines but somehow you found that setting them free was what they wanted . Your pen flows meticulously inking proses and suddenly you realize this free flow is your niche .
Words are the first poem you ever inked . Scribbled neatly on the center page of your diary . You often go back to open and read it .. and your lips besmile once again . As you trace the journey of this poem to now . You have evolved . Writing uniquely in a style that screams you . You long back shed the attempt to write like someone else .. cos you realized that .. /They become yours the moment you embrace them/
This shitty storm developing in the pit of my stomach...churning my mind...troubling my heart... This chronic inability to make best friends...always it happens with me...in any group of three it was the other two who grew a stronger bond and I was a hanging third...made fun of...not isolated per se yet with nobody exclusive for me..each had his/her own best mate...there was one for me too..havent had a conversation since months... somewhere I didn't feel it's genuine anymore...and my biggest folly is my honesty or frankness or whatever you term it...where I cannot call a spade anything but a spade...
For being what i am, for not licking asses or kissing cheeks or not bowing like a pet cow, I am sidelined not openly but subtly, surely. I know many would take it as fiction yet it's true and it pains....sometimes all the talks I want to have are with my self only...can't vibe with any living talking person coz they are all puppets made fit for the factory made clothes of accepted opinions and meek voices. With lame tastes and derision for the queer...with twisted ideas of dominance and low intellect... I know right? That wanting someone's attention and time is being too entitled on my part...yet how much freedom can you offer a person that they stay with you too? Or sometimes attention from a person wanting the whole of you can be too hard to split from...
I am a nobody. All my words are for myself. All my talks with my own brain. There is no lack of any thing particular thing in my life... comfortable it is..yet sometimes you know it's a privilege when you can ignore problems others are dying from....
//Sunsets We wander through a foreign town Strangely, there's nobody else around So you open your dress and show me your tits On the swing set at the old playground// (Sunsetz CAS)
I think it's the constant staying home that is taking a toll on my mind now but have I any place to go?? Any person to meet?
//I know that you say I get mean when I'm drinking, but Then again sometimes I get really sweet, so What does it mean if I tell you to go fuck yourself Or if I say that you're beautiful to me It's affection, always Ooh; you gonna see it someday My attention for you Even if it's not what you need// (Affection, CAS)
It's when earphone plugged ears of mine see pictures of Greg Gonzalez voice against the face of Ethan Hawke behind my closed eyes that sometimes tears roll off and sometimes I smile...
What's my problem? I can't tell you for I can't word it ..and maybe it's not a problem too..it's just loneliness...and inability to show my weakness to those living in with me...I'm waiting...to have a place to go...