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The Moor

The wind howls,
Oh how it shrieks
Like a lost woman
Driven crazy, rambling, cursing.
It batters at my back,
It whips round my legs
It cries in my ears
Here on the wild moor.
I sit down on a rock,
Grassy hills as far as the eye can see
I pull on my hood
And wrap tight in my cloak
It is such a relief
To be out where the wind
Can yell out my pain and frustration.
I close my eyes and breathe,
In the cold hard air
Rain drops start falling.
Leaning back they splash on my face,
Fast and faster they fall
I lay back in the grass
The drops soak into my bones
A chill spreads over me
I am completely wet.
I keep my eyes closed,
My breath slows
And sweet death embraces me.



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This article has 2 comments. Post your own!

L7SquariaN This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Apr. 24, 2013 at 6:09 pm:
I really like this one too. Really right up my alley. Although, I was a little disappointed that the hero/heroine was destined to perish. I would have hoped to see them find strength and flourish out of their anguish in the company of Mother Nature, but their death only shows the inevitability of our fate, and how the hero/heroine comes to accept this in their final moments. Very well written
 
Elizabeth-of-rohan This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Apr. 26, 2013 at 5:19 pm :
Thank you! This was inspired by some poems by Emily Bronte.
 
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