She is
a cast-iron cauldron -
surface blackened
with years,
with scorching use
once, she bubbled over
thoughts rained,
a constant source
of overflowing ideas
that kept her brimming
now she boils,
expires,
evaporation steals words
as they surface -
the source depleting
in this drought,
who knows what fascinating things
have disappeared
from the realm of this world
into one which awaits her?
Author notes
Written two days before my 23rd birthday.
Please tell me what you really think. Criticism welcomed.
Comments
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A beautiful picture
I cannot believe you wrote this so well SO YOUNG! I envy your talent, but even more, admire the intelligent and empathetic way you've constructed this piece. You have an old head on your shoulders. I'm in my blackened cauldron stage now, so this really means a lot to me. Thank you.
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astute comparison, however, I do not think that the drought will continue... she will outlast it!
the last stanza seems to have a different feel about it than the remainder of the piece, I like the questioning tone, but the change is somewhat abrupt... perhaps it is intended to be...
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thank you for pointing that out...
I was not intending to change or seem abrupt... perhaps if I removed the "who knows what" from that second line, and the question mark at the end? would that make it less abrupt? do you have any other suggestions?
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