Well, this is a poem I wrote when I lost my Sister.
I hope you will like it.
A little lass; eight, nine, ten... runs frantically
Searching for a hidden spot – relief from exhaus'
Into the grey yard her dainty legs carried her
Where the fir and birch lined the walls
And in the clearing stood bravely, the slabs and cross'.
Can a better place ever be found?
I wonder... no wonder
The searching eyes searched for a hollow tree
A bush or thick heather and rested
Upon that fresh mound, barely six feet
And couldn't move, it didnot want to be free.
The earth smelt fresh, the air aromatic
There was a serene silence and an eerieness
Draining away the staleness of life.
This world is too exiguous, this yard's room enough
Too good from the brutish erudite world,
This brusque life and its customary strife.
I wouldn't want an inch more
Than the measured space granted to me
I would be glad enough in my wooden home.
It's so enchanting to feel this loving calm
Liberty – from the labour, this world of fantasy
Peacefully lying in a burying tomb.
"Amy! Where art thou? It's getting dark."
What's it that calls me back?
This name that follows you everywhere,
This existence that's reality.
And I know I should live my life and suffer
Entangled in this worldly snare.
Until one day, when I will be carried to this paradise
From where I am being taken away
Where I wish to stay and joyously cry.
And I will be nothing but soil again,
Forgotten with my rotten bones
As in this yard, in a grave, I'll lie.
Poetry by Amy Valentina
Read 571 times
Written on 2008-09-09 at 08:45
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I hope you will like it.
In the graveyard...
One, two, three... as the numbers flowA little lass; eight, nine, ten... runs frantically
Searching for a hidden spot – relief from exhaus'
Into the grey yard her dainty legs carried her
Where the fir and birch lined the walls
And in the clearing stood bravely, the slabs and cross'.
Can a better place ever be found?
I wonder... no wonder
The searching eyes searched for a hollow tree
A bush or thick heather and rested
Upon that fresh mound, barely six feet
And couldn't move, it didnot want to be free.
The earth smelt fresh, the air aromatic
There was a serene silence and an eerieness
Draining away the staleness of life.
This world is too exiguous, this yard's room enough
Too good from the brutish erudite world,
This brusque life and its customary strife.
I wouldn't want an inch more
Than the measured space granted to me
I would be glad enough in my wooden home.
It's so enchanting to feel this loving calm
Liberty – from the labour, this world of fantasy
Peacefully lying in a burying tomb.
"Amy! Where art thou? It's getting dark."
What's it that calls me back?
This name that follows you everywhere,
This existence that's reality.
And I know I should live my life and suffer
Entangled in this worldly snare.
Until one day, when I will be carried to this paradise
From where I am being taken away
Where I wish to stay and joyously cry.
And I will be nothing but soil again,
Forgotten with my rotten bones
As in this yard, in a grave, I'll lie.
Poetry by Amy Valentina
Read 571 times
Written on 2008-09-09 at 08:45
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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