So I'm totally stumped...last week (or two weeks ago actually)I mentioned for you all to give me suggestions/topics to write about...however, there were no suggestions from you my readers! So until my school work lightens up a bit (or I'm more motivated) some writings being posted may look familiar (because they've been written already!). Maybe I'll start working on an idea that's been swimming around in my head since I first started writing about five-six years ago, but I need a beginning and beginnings are hard to start. So in the meantime here's the beginning to an epic poem I had to do for homework in my British Literature I class this semester. And please remember-comments, suggestions, corrections, and topics are all welcomed!
Peace and Love (I want a catch phrase for here...need to think of one that's more me!)
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Author's Note: I can't figure out how to indent on here so lines that are lowercase are suppose to be since they are actually suppose to be indented! If anyone knows how let me know!
Through the eyes of Tristan Cannon
The Mother is falling into a sleep,
her colors dull away and wash into a
disgusting mixture of life.
He tries to save her-to break the bearer
between the lowly plane and
Apollo's inflamed home.
To show those who cut into her vibrance
the terrible tremors tracking through
her rooted veins.
"Her soul sinks, it shakes
It cracks apart like a man's marrow;
scraping slowly against her breast bone."
Mother is exposed-her bodice ripped from her,
her hair the only garment around her sickly form.
Inhale Tristan Cannon and take up your blackened barrel.
Show humanity and provide their humility-
humble their hardened hearts.
Flash forward and capture man's monstrous motions.
Make men regret their wrongful ways.
Allow contrast between the colors and grays-
brighter, boulder, louder hues.
Lines should be darker, starker, slashed-
eye intoxicating.
Through Tristan's stilled panels
the lines from Adam take note of their
selfish, driven ways.
Mother's lofty living quarters have turned gray, gritty.
Her fibered carpets crushed continuously from crowded footfalls.
Her organic art has been hacked and hammered,
hastened away-taken from her house.
Mother's natural children;
her webbed, furry, winged, scaly, and aquatic offspring
Shy away-their homes and beds
snatched from their once safe rooms
of leafy handsomeness and pristine waters.
The emerald and sapphire blankets change
to cloudy echos of astonishing brilliance.
Gardens once full of bright technicolor beds
break down to natural brunette roots.
Mother is tired-
how can she keep up her once magnificent splendor?
"She's slipping away..."
Tristan's concern for her is apparent,
he strives to show the realities of her wounds.
To unveil Mother's anguish and uncover the earthlings blinded eyes.
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