Cracked skin gapes in little places
Showing the raw red of life still within;
On the hands and feet of a dry soul
Drinking the place with watery eyes.
A smile breaks the face open
As a Living Thing comes into view
A Living Thing of Many Colours
Dancing, dancing for its mate.
Followed by those eyes, shining
Like a child's
Alit of a sudden by the sight
Silence filled by the sound of Dance
Yet no airs nor graces
Words of Mouth can tell
Only Beauty, and Joy
Simply washing over the Soul
The Living Thing stops,
Arching its neck backwards before taking flight
The Ritual ended
The Spell of the Moment broken
A sigh, like the desert wind
Blows out through the treacherous paths of the Soul
Hands reach down
And collect the tools
For the day's chores are yet undone
Author notes
If one is a Hermit, then pen and paper are luxuries, words are forgotten.
I would imagine Hermits are usually written about, rather than writing about themselves, no?
A contest entry
- Insane Ramblings of the Hermit Poet by Great Cthulhu.
1200 points, ended June 11, 2008, 11 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Outstanding!
This vision is wonderful, well penned and spot on! Well done!
This is my favorite stanza, I love the wording choices, the simile, alliteration and the imagery -
"The Ritual ended
The Spell of the Moment broken
A sigh, like the desert wind
Blows out through the treacherous paths of the Soul"
I enjoyed your take on the prompt. Keep your pen to the page and thanks for entering! -
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Thank you very, very much!
Wow.
Glad you enjoyed it.
I had fun thinking, feeling and imagining.
Thank you for holding the contest!
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Thoughtful and unusual take on the prompt--I like this very much.
Well done,
Bill
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Er, thank you very much!
I am glad you liked it.
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