What is alliteration? A source from masterclass.com
In alliteration, the words should flow in quick succession. Think of “wicked witch,” “loose lips” or the tumble of “f” sounds in the line “From forth the fatal loins of these two foes,” from William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.
The key is to look for repetition of sounds, not letters. The letter “g,” for example, sounds very different in “giant” than in “gas.: That’s why “gym junkie” is alliterative—but “gym glutton”
Example: 'D'eep into that 'd'arkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing 'D'oubting, 'd'reaming 'd'reams no mortal ever 'd'ared to 'd'ream before.
I constantly associate feelings and emotions with colors, and I think it isn't surprising if someone would find it relatable.
Today's skies are gray with hints of dirty white here and there. I remember when I was in 3rd grade, I and my friends love to play outdoors in this kind of weather because it's perfect for hanging out all day long without getting sunburned. Those were the times when school wasn't regarded as a burden, and staying outdoors was a lot safer. Those were the days of happy, carefree memories.
The silvery skies bring back tender childhood recollections with my once upon a time inseparable friends. Most of them are my Facebook friends now. Some are even my constant chatmates, but we rarely see each other. Some of them are just in nearby cities, living their separate lives. So near yet so far.
As we become older, our priorities shift. We're caught up in life's overwhelming concerns. Hours of outdoor games are replaced with intermittent phone calls then we become comfortable with occasional text messages until we lose contact with them. But the thing is, we don't forget about them, no matter how busy we become dealing with our own lives.
Looking at the gray skies today makes me feel nostalgic, but I am not sad. It even carries a certain feeling of comfort that I dwell on once in a while. We miss people in our life. They come and go and it's okay. That's the way it is. They may not be with us but the thought of them lingers. We remember them with fondness from time to time. And somehow, we become okay with that, don't we?
It's twilight out there , the day , seemingly reluctant to move , appears as if it wants to linger , a bit more , the night , seems more anxious , to grab the baton , and , to engulf the entirety of the panorama , she's showing her intent , in her hurry-scurry advent
this battle , though pseudomorphous , it ushers in some pristine magic , slow , to render , to the entire arena , some , amaranthine glow ,
there it appears , hardly any controversy , in the making , rather , it happens to be some scheduled , routine delight , day and night , handing over and taking charge , in that mesmerizingly beauteous twilight ,
but , as shadows , they begin to disappear , and shades , begin to take over , there's always some malaise , that keeps propelling , writing minds , into some utopian trance , might be , twilights are meant for that , perchance
for , beneath the sheets of awareness , assumptions keep quibbling , for hegemonies , and beneath the masks of smiling grace , melancholia , keep cluttering , like they're waiting there , for a chance , of chronicling ascendancies ,
as illusions and or or echoes , of adamantine pain keep breeding , against the backdrop of octagonal cobwebs , some mirages of diminutive showers , of augmentative acid rain
to retaliate , a baffled , gobbledygook , writing mind , starts banking upon creative ventures , profuse , tries opening , some umbrellas , of elite poetic muse , but words , happen to take the route amorphous , they just opt to disburse and to diffuse ,
verses surreptitious , begin to appear , more willowy and more clandestine , and outside , the world , it keeps turning more dark , fading away appear all those shades , amaranthine
The dark veil of night stretches for aeons Layers of land underneath the thick blanket Nocturnal life breathes breaking every norms Humming, thudding and roaring from afar Listen to the wind swinging through the wild The pitch black canvas spots golden lights Fireflies gather around the dark deep forest A torchlight of hope for when the dawn breaks
The vast riverside valley and the hill way wide Fields of daffodils covers the whole land Sweet sunflowers welcome the morning sun Golden hues touches the yellow petals awake Blossoms smile around the Halo of the dawn Buttercups and daisies giggling in the breeze A red Sea of poppies and garden full of roses Butterflies sipping on the laughter of flowers
Warmth of nature kisses the cold blue sky Blue blushes turn soft grey clouds darker Wind whispers how thirsty the land gets often The heavens pour down the showers of love Rain touches the land, bathes the buds of hope From the lakeside willows begin the rainbow bridge It arches along the skyway and meets the end of valley Rain keeps pouring and nourishing as the rainbow smiles
Branches, now bidding goodbyes to their aged, rusty leaves With wind, proffering them her softest embrace Falling now Flowing, Flapping their dry wings Flying as moths with ecstasy
Leaves, once adorned the branches, now embellishing the grounds Contrasts in patterns, shapes and colour Red, grey and shades of brown But making a beautiful mess Like lovers, poles apart Harmonising in love. Shrouding the cold sombre street With warmth Of a heavy cotton quilt.
Cold winds, piercing through my ear Singing welcoming tunes For forthcoming winter. For leaves, then covered with rainy mists will now be graced with winter ammil....