Behold, a crow caw tears cold air, ripping breezes to shreds tattered, will Time **** her black bones fair? He tries, but Her cries mattered. Matters to whom, one can ask. The Lady by her dim window unclear, Using a clammy night for mask, the docile heart, her beating, biding fear. Ebony wings turn quietly… Upon an evening dreary and sad, fairest, My Crow, shrieks piercingly and the Lady’s *****: glad. For crow’s wails lament morbidly- Screaming to and with the far too lonely.
My first attempt at iambic pentameter and a Shakespearian style sonnet. Written about the crow that flies by my window.
Hark! What a feeling! For thou hath introduced Free from burden Guilt misting into nether Bray out! But softly, this feeling is dateless No more drops of sorrow and woe From whence we came New beginnings arise Dost thou wish to come with me? Hast thou the courage to push through? I gage to thee new feelings of old Grace for grace Nevermore any gull Nevermore leasing or palter I am at your hip I am receiving of thee Alas the day hath come For better feelings and truth From now onto the perpetual wink. I am yours
A Shakespearian take on healing. From all pain you can either choose to be miserable, or you can take it as a lesson and learn and grow from it all. Time is the ultimate healer.