The Rhyme of Love

A poem I wrote a while ago

My heart beats with yours in the dim light,

fusing together on this perfect night.

Like moths to a flame, we have come back –

passion making up for the rationality we lack.

Whoever thought that this would happen again?

Using each other’s bodies as our personal den.

Two teenagers, two hearts

Cupid with his fickle darts.

They say history repeats itself, and I guess here’s the proof

that to my broken home, you are the protective roof.

We are told to forget and to move on from the past

but how could I ever when our memories last?

My heart beats with yours in the dim light,

fusing together on this perfect night.

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Why I write.

A quick break from my usual writing to express my gratitude

Writing keeps me sane. I may be inexperienced, I may not ever be the best the world has seen, but writing saves me in a way that nothing else does. To write is to convey thoughts and emotions in a way that does not cut through contemplative silence – but instead resonates with its readers without forcing itself onto anyone. I have loved to write ever since I learnt how as a young girl, and sometimes I wonder if the past me would be proud of my writing today. I am aware that I have a lot to learn and a lot to do before I can gain even an ounce of experience here but I am so glad I made this blog. Each view and each like here makes me smile, and I am grateful to each and every reader that takes the time to visit my site. To write is to live for me, and I hope that this blog helps me to grow and learn from others, and keeps me motivated even when I am busy with schoolwork. If you enjoy reading my writing, thank you, thank you, thank you – and if you don’t, feedback is much appreciated!

First Snow

From the kitchen window,

the white cotton of the clouds

is seen to fall,

drifting down to meet

the frozen earth so far below.

The first to kiss the the ground

settles, just for a moment,

then merges with the

paving stone until

no trace of it

is found.

But now more have started

to float down from

the endless

sky of white,

each one crafted

by an

uknown hand.

A thin carpet begins

to cover the grass

and soon all view

is obscured by the

flurry. Silence. Noise cloaked

by the white.

It is now that I find myself longing to be

outside,

to feel the cold against

my flushed cheek,

and tuck myself into

the soft blanket of white –

forever.

Urban Greed

I know a place where the night sky wears a diamond necklace, twinkling in the inky blackness. Come morning, the emerald canopy caresses the slices of gold that fall upon it, and sings with the sounds of many animal species. The sticky air is filled with the raucous cries of wildlife, and of liquid silver cutting its path through the foliage. It tumbles over the edges of risen ground, to fall with spectacular grace to kiss the earth below it. It’s also a place where trees quickly fall, killed by a man-made disease – an urban greed. Mankind lingers like a parasite, draining the forest of its values as the clouds mourn the fallen with their grey shrouds and molten iron. Where the gentle giants were, no wildlife calls. In their place lies charred earth, pocked with stumps – reminders of what once was. There, only a deafening silence greets visitors and sometimes, just sometimes, the final rattling breaths of a planet deprived of its lungs.

The Orchard

A poem I wrote a while ago for a competition.

I remember that summer’s day,

your hands picking apples

like a God choosing fate.

Fingers closing over perfect spheres

ruby-red as a lover’s lips

painted with another’s passion.

Golden slats of light

illuminated the orchard that evening,

burrowing into my skin and

consuming me like a stranger.

That light then flowed out of both of us,

through radiant smiles.

Laughter bubbling at our lips

like the champagne we drank

out of plastic flutes.

We raised them to the sky

and laughed as the rain

began to fall. From a new blanket

of grey the liquid silver

gushed with the sweetness of apple juice.

But now the light was gone.

Covered by the clouds and escaped from our too-smiley

mouths, our too-happy hearts.

Dissipating into the once golden

orchard as a reminder that

all good things, must come to

an end.

The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me!

I am a teenage girl who has always loved to write. I have been looking for somewhere to put my writing for a while now, and have finally settled on a blog for that very purpose. Writing is a passion of mine and I like to think that maybe someone, somewhere, will enjoy what my mind creates. I hope you will join me on this exciting new journey!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

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