Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?
As water flowed, it washed me all away:
The elements that made me what I am;
My hopes and visions, first. Behind them swam
Awareness, leaking ’til there’s no today
My pride in my accomplishments went next;
My puns, non-sequiturs–my treasured words.
Released at last, my loved ones fled in herds,
Sweet memories in hand, and their context.
I watched, bemused, myself, in downstream drift
And numbness flowed to force out my regrets.
My veins are empty highways now, until
Soft Time, in mercy, opes me up, and lets
Life’s new beginnings in, a gentle gift.
I bless the razor bright, and love God’s will.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (5 so far!)
Thanks, Robert! This is in the form of a Petrarchan sonnet. :D I wrote this as a sort of imaginary version of some self harm in which the letting of blood leads to a purge of the old and an intake of freshness of heart.
- #1455 Posted 6 years ago
This is such a beautiful release that it almost doesn't feel sad at all. I particularly love the enjambment. Lines 11 and 12 and especially the phrase "Soft Time" are so haunting.
- #1459 Posted 6 years ago
Oh! I'm not sure if you're a fan of classical music, but the modern American composer William Bolcom set several of Petrarch's sonnets about Laura to music, called "Laura Sonnets". Just in case you're interested!
- #1461 Posted 6 years ago
Hi again, Escapist! I'm so gratified at your comments, sincerely. Thank you many times. I am actually a music educator by training and love modern music, and will have to check out Bolcom's settings! That's wonderful to know, I always love tips like this! :D
- #1465 Posted 6 years ago
Author's prompt text:
- Published 6 years ago.
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All stories on Ficlatté are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 License. What does this mean?
Dark, but familiar. I wonder if this moment lies in every artist's breast. Are the cadence and rhyming scheme structured to be a particular type of poem?