April 17, 2011
By KellyBirch SILVER, Scottsdale, Arizona
KellyBirch SILVER, Scottsdale, Arizona
8 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." - Ernest Hemingway

The stars grow dull in the midnight sky
As the angels from the Heavens cry;
The forlorn prayers have made them still
Their glimmer taken by wishes’ will.
The waning Moon must seek to hide
A catalyst for life’s stagnant tide
That came about by suffering
And had unrequited hope to bring.

Oh! What has befallen the Sun?
All remnants of the light have gone!
Unanswered pleas are buried deep
For the dark and icy snow to keep.
Lamenting winds rush through the night
And as vultures ride the air in flight,
Fresh open graves yawn toward the sky
Beside where the raging waters lie.

Hopelessness hangs in the frigid air
In the austere arms of bleak despair;
Yet trees sprout diamonds by the hour
In the minds of whom the night devours.
Seas the color of summer skies
Eclipse the insides of closed eyes;
And majestic castles touch the clouds,
With bells that chime a hopeful sound.

Green meadow grass, as tall as trees,
Sings Mother Nature’s melodies
To the ears of those who meet, aghast
Sweet memories of the distant past.
And alas, amongst the Sun’s bright rays
Floats laugher from those peaceful days;
And oh! What has become of fear?
It cannot be found in this place here.

A miracle! Summer comes with light!
Amidst the cold and stormy night,
With heat that warms the weary soul,
Before anguish takes its deadly toll.
The calm sea laps against the shore
A sight that has been seen before,
Yet fingers cannot grasp the sand,
For naught exists in night’s dreamland.

The author's comments:
A poem about the human ability to get lost in dreams. But eventually, you always have to wake up.

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