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When you were plucked, my life, my only
I wanted to die
I wanted to die.
So with me forever, now my only
you will come and watch your silken petals
grow to scarlet with the bloody sunset
which you thought was dawn.
-^-
[[Author's Note]] Salut! I am Reve, and here is my first post. This is a poem I wrote for the opening of an important story, and I used the discordant and irregular rhythm to try and express subtle anger and frustration which comes with loss.
The story which I wrote this poem for is a very important project of mine. It is my own interpretation of Belle et la Bete (Beauty and the Beast); this folk story of my country is very close to my heart.
I tried to write the poem as if it were through the Beast's eyes; who or what is "my only," is up to interpretation by the reader.
Be sure to drop me a line! All comments are appreciated =3
 Belle_Reve · Tue Nov 13, 2007 @ 08:51am · 0 Comments |
