Thaw.

Shakespeare has always had my admiration, but he’s earned some extra kudos today, in the wake of my painstaking attempt at writing a traditional English sonnet… (with the theme of Future and some chiasmus thrown in for good measure)

Thaw

 

Thaw.

From shadows uncertain, a wreck you hauled

In spite of the grave that shrouded the eye.

It bore through the teeth so time further stalled

As it tore though the bones whilst age went by.

 

When twenty summers did soften the ill,

And firm dissolved what had dug so intent.

That which was irksome now deadened the chill

with which the preface of life you had spent.

 

I remember the rain had fallen sharp,

The streets cast their echoes with sombre dew.

Your fingers, ice as they prised mine apart,

yet temperate shards pierced the bitter I knew.

 

The ice within is hereafter thawing,

Warming the fire as the fire is warming.

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Sing.

day3

 

Another day, another free-writing challenge, this time inspired by three stellar pieces of music that my ears were most certainly seized by…

 

David Bowie – Magic Dance

Sitting against a sofa of worn orange corduroy. I’m looking into Mr Bowie’s mismatched eyes and feeling a chilled flurry envelop me. Having just seconds ago metamorphosed from a snowy owl with feathers that were the purest of white, his bleached mullet wasn’t one of hilarity, it was a monochrome menace as much as the vampire like front teeth and the pale face. Jareth the Goblin King.

Radiohead – Talk Show Host

Plucked strings. The sands are flooded with a golden tinge. Leonardo sits in blue with a smoking cigarette in his hand, soft blonde hair trailing into those cobalt blues. Teenage crush. Teenage angst. Driving in the rays of the English summer. Closing my eyes and my head tripping backwards. Laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling. Gazing out the car window, pretending to be somewhere else. The spirit being sucked from my chest as it lifts towards the sky and my body drags it back down again with a weighty thud. We hope that you choke. Do not choke.

Alexandre Desplat – Courtyard Apocalypse

One the outside they are gritty soldiers. On the inside, they are trembling. We are sneaking through the darkness, overcome. Can we drink it in? Trying not to sob, we are overwhelmed. Finding a place at the pinnacle. They’re seizing my insides, behind the eyes, in the chest, deep in the stomach, and they’re not letting go. The breathing of many on the head of only one. This is the epitome of sadness.