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POEM 22 - Golden Feather
One night of dark, I could hear no bark,
From the vicious dog of the next door neighbour,
An old man with the strange nickname Saber,
I sat and read my book, one from the library I took,
It was a book of dreams, nightmares, scenes,
A book of ghosts, ghouls, and wiccan teens,
I was deep into the book as the tree outside shook,
And in flew a golden feather through the open window.
I watched as more fell, from which that I could not tell,
I imagined a thing of beauty, an angelic golden bird,
Which then I thought, was definitely most absurd,
"What kind of bird from the sky, can drop such feathers that here lie?"
At that I went bed, to later be woken by which could not be said,
Then I remembered what the feather could be, and stood up from my bed,
I screamed as I began to wither and die,
And watched as a small, beautiful, golden bird left,
And remembered the feathers - a sure sign of death.
I like the rhyming in these. I think I copied the rhymes patterns from Edgar Allan Poe's poems, I don't know. Wrote on Saturday 17th June 2006.
 DaleLuck1313 · Sat Nov 18, 2006 @ 03:33pm · 0 Comments |
