Poem (rev 2:) Beautiful Grief

Objectively, the first version of the poem with working name 'beautiful words' it was not a poem. It had aspects that alienate it from being a poem. For it to truly become a poem, removing ego became necessary; thus,

The author of snow
buried deep
veiled in black.

The lights in the city
glowing glowing
hearts weeping.

Poem: Beautiful Words

Without further adieu I am happy to present the poem of beautiful words:

The author of Snow
Buried Deep
Veiled in Black
The Lights in the City
Were Glowing Glowing
My Heart Weeping

First of all I have to say, saying this out loud simply make me whole. It is like a song, filled with beautiful words. I love beautiful words. For me it's not about the dark images built up by the words. For me it is the Darkness of the events that have occur but the Light is equally strong and it keeps me smiling; for this story the light prevailed, breaking the equilibrium.

So the poem is not about angst. There has been a lot going on in my life, and I am strong in both emotional and psychical layers; the poem is putting into words a feeling of pent up frustration and putting things behind you; both new and old; what could've been and what could not.

The first and the last paragraph link deeply in to the author of the poem. However the choice of words had also a deeper meaning behind them, I'll return there a little later.

Buried Deep: Coalescing the thoughts and emotions of how deeply the events had touched me and at same time it also connects the emotions with death. That what happened is now over.

Veiled in Black: While this part might connect with the emotions to the reader; for me it is disconnected from expressing emotions. While I stared at the black waters of the windy sea at my home port, I connected the reference: "Veiled" to the environment and also to the season. There had been snow previously that day but it had melted during the evening. For same reason I ended up personalizing the first paragraph as, The Author of Snow.

The Lights in the City
Were Glowing Glowing: I kept walking towards my home and everywhere was filled with beautiful lights for the celebration of the upcoming season. While walking I kept saying to me over and over again:

"The Author of Snow, Buried Deep, Veiled in Black ..."
...
"... The Lights in the city..."
"... Were Glowing, Glowing ... Glowing"

And that is where the final paragraph connected. I was thinking only about it more as a song than as a premeditated poem. The word that connected and rhymed with glowing was weeping.

My Heart Weeping, and so this closed the story. There are multiple ways of interpreting this. But for me the Weeping was not of sorrow. It was not sadness. I smiled the whole journey while returning back to home. I never cried, I laughed.

I enjoyed every syllable of the poem, singing it in  the streets and making myself look weird when random pedestrians looked at me with an odd eye.

Tell me, do you find these words as beautiful as I do? I've never really excelled at poems, yet at same time I have never felt the strong burning urge of putting my emotions into words. This has been the first time, I had to do it. 

Short Novel: Why do we turn a blind eye to the world as we age?

Someone, somewhere, once asked a question.

Cicadas sang loudly and the air was warm and tiring. I was lying underneath the shadow of a lone oak on a grassy field. Occasionally, a cool breeze of air would whistle against my face, tingling against my hair. A ladybug was sitting on top of my nose, it tickled.

This was my little world. The mellow warmth of the air had seeped in my body from head to toes. Each breath of air was wonderful. The sweet scent of leaves lingering over the sun basked verdant field mellowed my senses like the sweetest nectar.

Sleeping there, basking in that little heaven; I opened my eyes, whispering: “Why can't people stop for moments like these when they grow older?”

A white line cut across the sky the moment that the last syllable of my question remained, lingering in the air. A freezing cold shiver pushed across my back, carried by a painful euphoria. I gasped. It felt like the whole universe had answered to my beseech of my secret wish; that this hidden world would not disappear when I'd become older.

- - -

Years passed, seasons changed. I don't remember much of my early childhood. But amidst the forgotten memories, ever since that day. That question and that wish has protected me.

Stopping every once in a while, here and there; finding the small miracles in the ordinary life. Even during hard times, I could still catch a glimpse of the sun with all the dark clouds.

Sometimes when I would find myself watching over a magical scenery, wondering – I whisper; asking a quiet question: “Was I the only one?” with a childish innocence.

Short Novel: Bittersweet Love - I

Bittersweet Love - First Story.
This is a practice story that I wrote in the middle of
the night during early hours of morning. This is my first
short story that'll start up this blog. ~ Enjoy Reading!

Night was creeping from the streets, the first snowflakes of the fall were floating down in a silent dance. A woman looked outside the window, sighing heavily. She came back from locking up when she heard a sound coming from the doorway. She shouted hesitantly to greet the person.

> Good evening.

< Evening.

His response came in fast, before she had time to announce that they were closed.

> I am sorry, but we are closed.

< It doesn't matter. I am here to see someone.

She said, lowering her head reverently. But when she heard his words again, her heart started racing. The man walked from the shadows to the lights of the hallways.

> Oh, I have been waiting for someone.

She spoke, holding her hands against her chest.

< Sorry that I could not keep my promise, Anna.

His words were sincere, he was holding banquet of flowers in his hands.

> It is alright. I haven't been waiting for long.

She did not know how to react. She thought she had lost him forever.

They walked towards the main hall of the library while almost holding each other from hands.

Both were blushing, speaking in an innocent tone like they were teenagers.

< Anna...

< … is it really you?

> Uh-uh, a long time no see Mike.

< It is that time when we were supposed to meet. I brought you something.

> I can see that.

< And here, your present.

> Thank you.

> I am sorry, but I don't have anything for you.

< It is alright.

They sat down on the chairs, holding hands. The two pairs of eyes connected with each other. Telling a tale of longing. Of an anguish. A hot frozen heart, melted in an instant; emotions lost in past, blazing into a life anew.

< Anna, you know.

< I am sorry.

His words were sad, and regretful.

> About?

Her words were happy and tender.

< Everything.

> It is alright, I am happy for this moment.

He warped his hand around her shoulder. She placed her face against his chest. Closing her eyes.

< Me too. It feels like we are all alone in this world. Just the two of us.

His voice was warm and full of life.

> Uh-uh. I really wish we could be like this forever.

Those words made him really happy, he moved his hands across her hair. Giving a tender kiss on top of her forehead.

< That had been my wish from since the beginning.

He sounded like he had found solace; while a dark memory flashed over her head. She opened her lips to ask him.

> Mike … Is that really you?

> Mike?

> Mike!?

She opened her eyes, staring at the empty hall. A banquet of flowers placed next to her. She could still feel his sweet scent inside her head. But he had been dead for four years. Drummed by loud heartbeats she walked by to the window; holding onto the flowers. She saw a character wave at her, before disappearing in the snowing night.