Sunday, February 04, 2007

All Abandon

As the midnights' clouds of sarrow
Glooms it's body towards tomarrow
Come what may to every toil
From this willows shade I barrow

On this hilltop I lay here
In my molding clothes I fear
That I'll catch my death from cold
As my chilling end moves near

With the rainclouds gloating o'er
The stench of rigor mortis borne
From my bones and rotting flesh
The fabric of my senses torn

As the sky begins to cry
All that I can do is sigh
Seeping through my stale dry lips
Rain doth drown me as I lie

All the sudden I hear a noise
But I dare not disturb my poise
Strange whisperings haunt close by
Now I scream without a voice

As I lie here entombed in hating
I soon succumb to the waiting
The strange whisperings sound lonlier now
As I drift off into fading

by Danielle Turner

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Anonymous Sam Vargo said...

Very Bronte-ish in some regards.

Were you laying on a moor or bog when this thing hit you?

Just kidding. Actually, I love it when contemps experiment with rhyme, meter etc. Everything is free verse and experimental these days.

I think "measuring" verse makes the poetry stronger - if such linguistic inter-weavings take place.

But only if it's well done. If not, it can come off as corny. I like this one. It captures alienation and loneliness better with rhyme than if done free form.

But who am I? Another censored poet? 'Nuff said.

11:08 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

your very talented. have you been published anywhere else? where can i read more of your work?

12:18 AM  

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