Thursday, November 16, 2006

Mourning Elm // Press

The winter claims trees’ dawning purity:
ignored, as screaming branches shattersplit,
and noble leaves blur to obscurity
(for to the bitter snow they must submit).
Or analyze these brittle, tortured clouds,
each tiny piece hacked from avenging air
and banished to the brief and blood-stained ground.
Could transient self-pity ever compare?
Your jaundiced glares and grandiose demands,
excuses for your egocentric pleas,
will crack when juxtaposed with wintered lands
and destinies of lacerated trees.
These sterling ones were stolen in your stead.
Your snowing soul should be the shameless dead.


esperanza said...

Wow! This is a really cool sonnet. I especially like how the volta brings such a dramatic change in tone and audience but integrates the previous ideas smoothly and meaningfully.

Wishing.for.a.Heart said...

That... Wow, I'm speechless.
Your word choice is amazing.

Anonymous said...

I LOVE your choice of words!!!
It paints a clear beautiful picture.
I feel as if I'm right there.
The poem is beautiful!

Anonymous said...

This is amazing...the best kind of poem is one that keeps you thinking long after you read it, and this makes my mind swirl around in confusion! (The good kind of confusion) :)

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