A page in a story

I often speak in short burst of creativity. From things I see, I feel, and try to recreate those moments into a page; one page from someone's story.

Name: Serpthia

I am an artist, but I have put that aside to write. I am working on my first novel. This blog is to be a prisoner of my creativity. I definitely can hold the pages hostage to my poetry. Be it prose or otherwise, the words bear witness to all I have collected and become a testament to some of my encounters.

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Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Sunday, January 13, 2008

The Rose

What in strange moments can bring this rose, weeping
Softening the thorns, its beauty diminished by each flow
Sun wilted upon dewy breath it pleads before God
Seeking refuge within your hands
To have such lips upon its essence
Shall stop the death of the endless weeping
Surreal the time that mounts between each caress
Where the rose lingers from lack of keeping
Always silent, always weeping

Saturday, January 12, 2008

The letter.

I wrote you yesterday
Tears shed spiritual blood
Ink blended, faded blue
Beneath weighted wet
Words weary quivered from pen
I miss you seeped from nib
Unreason and I united
Mesmerized momentarily
Lingered sad
Written rhythmic tempo shook
Cursive tenderness never before said
Signed, I love you
Fear seizes
Letter lays, sealed unread