Idézet: WickedWitch - Dátum: 2005. okt. 10., hétfő - 23:58
So you want a poem of the season. I think I have one in stock.
Magical
Evening
The
Autumnal
Moonshine
Overshadowing
Rich
Purple
Hues
Of
Sunsets
In
Summer
A word to the wise: poems don't always have to rhyme.
"Besides, I got stuck once
when I couldn't find anything
to rhyme with "orange" (A quote from one of my non-rhyming poems.)
I start to feel the cold in the fall. It's a season that makes me sleepy. I sleep rather than face the feeling that seeps through the season to the very core of my soul; for it is a season, that makes you wish for the warm, happy days of summer, while it foreshadows, whispers, hails the onset of the colder months of winter. Autumn... is often overrated, romanticized. I am a child of spring. Autumn, though my second favorite season, is just a shadow, a cheap imitation of spring. A poor subsitute, but this is the here and now. So I sleep. Perchance to dream...
Leather jacket. I get to wear my leather jacket again, at least. The short one, that makes me look like a rocker. Wild child. Wish I was. Wild, passionate, uninhibited... Break out, break free, cut the shackles that bind to the mundane and drudging routine. So inside I'm screaming, raging, whirling, exploding... and outside... I wear my leather jacket hang a pentacle in my neck. A non-conformist conformist. An idealistic cynic. And somewhere I'm happy with my damn confusing paradox self.
A good one, may I say so. What I would totally miss is giving life to a poem. Sure, I can throw words around, they can line up nicely, they make sense, and I might say that I stand my ground when it comes to using prose... but I lack creativity, that survival trait for the jungles of the lines not reaching the sides of the page

. I can't even imagine myself writing something... even if I sometimes almost crave for it, I just didn't gather enough inertia to move me through the first and hardest step.
But hey, it's the autumn we're talking about. I also like my leather coat, even if the reason is far more practical

. But I just, simply, like the part of the year when the hotness ends, when soothing cold and darkness falls... even with my great (and mostly unsatisfied) need for sleep, I pride myself to be a nocturnal person. Spring is overrated with all the joy of the coming life

. Autumn reminds us that though there might be a time for frolicking in the meadows, still it's not good to forget that all things end. And that idealism is not the best thing to wield, when one's facing Time

.
I leave now for a short winter

Spring's early tomorrow (and boy, will my springs be rusty

).