Each night he sits to watch flames twist and dance,
eyes cold as steel reflecting emptiness.
Defeated heart that thought it had a chance,
mistakes lie buried never to redress.
Resist old memories that haunt his heart,
forever locked away from foe and friend.
Strange dreams at night tear life and mind apart,
such evil thoughts no soul can comprehend.
Until with sword in hand he rides to fight,
defeat and lay to rest tormented dreams.
The demon flames that lick and burn at night,
destroy his every hope, all plans and schemes.
Great billowed sails push out towards the isles,
where once upon a time his heart was young.
Fair maidens blushed and offered him their smiles,
fond words of love slipped idly from his tongue.
Becalmed upon the shifting sands of gold,
strong footprints leave their mark, a lonely ghost.
A table is adorned with treasures old,
two goblets still await a wedding toast.
Fine cobwebs link their arms from chair to throne,
draped from the window, fragile silken veil.
An empty room surrounded by cold stone,
deep secrets leave a faint unspoken trail.
Valhalla calls, her voice moans on the wind,
it stirs the cobwebs from their endless sleep.
Where lay a beating heart, a maid pale skinned,
her tear-stained pillow cushioning and deep.
Young haughty queen refused his hand, his love,
fled from his arms to live a life apart.
Her hand would never sit within his glove,
but soon a canker grew inside her heart.
He wonders is the candle to her taste,
warm tempting light maybe to coax her back.
With careful step a dagger at her waist,
always alert and ready for attack.
The door creaks open slowly to reveal
her Viking lord of many years before.
His body fills the throne he sought to steal,
but hearts grow tired, he does not want to war.
The maiden sits upon her lowly chair,
her violet eyes cloud over with fresh tears.
she reaches out to stroke his golden hair,
and suddenly regrets the missing years.
So there they sat in silence for a while,
just listening to the waves roll in the bay.
Upon the maiden’s face appeared a smile,
his Viking craft her sea had snatched away.
*
When springtime sheds her bounty on the isle,
sweet violets dance newborn upon the hill.
A blanket of deep purple fills each mile,
two hearts once far apart lie very still.
Author notes
This caused me a lot of grief-
A contest entry
- Tell us the story (In rhyme) by cricketjeff.
3500 points, ended March 28, 67 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please comment honestly-
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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This is superb, absolutely of your best but now the bad news the system only allows us 5 hms and at the third remarking you are just shaded from the top eight. This has been our highest standard contest ever and we really did want to award more poems.
Thank-you for such a wonderful write and entry in the contest
Jeff and Sue
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Thank you for your entry in the contest. This is a wonderful story in near perfect rhyme and flow. it has a beginning, middle and end, as all stories should have and your final stanza rounds the legend off beautifully. It was definitely worth all the blood, sweat and tears.
All the best in the contest.
Sue and Jeff
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It may have caused you a lot of grief but it seems it was worth the pain! Every respondent throwing you a full three-pack of yellow clappenkopfs. A lovely story with a boatload of effort evident. Very nice, Moony!
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nicely done
Rhymes well and has good flow. What a good story!
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This contest of Jeff's has thrown up some gems This is high upon the list of those I have read and enjoyed. The story flows along wonderfully well with no need to stop because of snags in the rhyme Excellent A very enjoyable read All the very best in the contest
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I think this has to be your best yet. A lovely tale and with the romantic ending of the flowers, beautiful. I needn't say more, it is great.
Sheila
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PS..
...I think your previous critiquer is wrong, and you are right. I'm sure war can also be used as a verb.
R -
Awesome...
...is a word much overused on this site (usually to describe some nondescript piece of crap), however, I honestly believe that it could apply to this beautiful piece of delightfully flowing rhyme which resonates with emotion and passion.
I cannot find a single flaw in the piece, nor could I suggest anything which might better it, except perhaps "dance newborn upon the hill", only for the reason that although "violets" technically has 3 syllables, most people I suspect would read it as containing 2.
I think the piece is almost perfect.
Well done for digging so deeply within yourself and painting the picture the way you have.
This may well represent a benchmark for all of us : I for one have never written anything so beautiful, out of about 600 attempts!
I am immensely impressed.
Kind regards,
Robin.
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This was the most beautifully poetic thing I've read for awhile. The end broke my heart. The rhyme was well done, never forced. This was nearly perfect. Jane
Fave Lines:
Fine cobwebs link their arms from chair to throne,
draped from the window like a silken veil.
An empty room surrounded by cold stone,
deep secrets leave a faint unspoken trail.
Awesome imagery!
(also it says "Not to war" I think you meant "not war" I don't know...)
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