Spring Turns Winter

DMS · 01-30-2019, 04:13 PM

Spring Turns to Winter

The scrivener’s bequeathing.
Our mind’s to learn the teaching.
But the damp fades, the lamp shades over the light in earth all reaching.
I find a worth and meaning in the time of hurt and scheming.
But the moon’s gone, the sun stoked, the fools on the upmost in sky’s to serve as kingly.
The grave’s by the street replace my wildest beliefs.
Epithets over former doubts, my childhood beneath.

How I used to bout with intellect and ignorance.

The frost grows across the windows, as tho it were life.
Revelations arise from the shadows in my sight.
The knocking upon the door is from a vague composition.
The survey it bares reveals the psychiatric prison.

Beams above me cover my bed. I laid inside but was awoke.

The crate of my belongings just dwells in the corner, the cowardice strongly compels me over.
I stutter to remove an item and find a place on the shelf, I fear to leave this cave that’s my escape from the yells.
I sit upstairs, the entire basement is hell.
The frost begins to melt, creating a coat of fog and water.
I morn the loss of ice, but still return to my pond to ponder.
I assume the skin and flesh, I assume the apple seed.
I float by Aesop’s fables towards the pageantry
Scrawled inside my cell. The bars begin to bend and break, but I still cannot leave.
For it is will that’s my own chains, to avoid a fathoming.
The box is still in the corner, I select a book.

I note the spelling errors and burn it to heat the room.

The warmth renews the freeze once more.
I stand and seize the crate, my footprints lead to the door.
I lob the falsities into tossing seas, I replace the emptiness with fullness. The mantelpiece’s pages stand to meet the ages.
Space where it’s need is there, spots are ready for an assignment.
I have replaced belief with knowledge, I have replaced the heat with icicles, I have replaced the wings dormant with these soaring eagles, flying.

Sinacog · 01-30-2019, 08:09 PM

I thought this was a good read, DMS.

You had a good out-line of this topic; - had all the essentials for a good topical piece. You didn't really stray away from your topic; - which was nice. I enjoyed your subtle imagery; and prose like writing. I enjoy this metaphor you brought us on - was quite riveting. With you being upstairs; and the basement being a scary place. Nice one. Good poetic prose, near the end. I enjoyed this a lot more than your previous written. Good work, you could up your vocabulary; and maybe use even more imagery. But this was fine...niice one..good work...keep writing!

01-30-2019, 04:13 PM	#1
DMS DMS—Diddled My Stick Join Date: May 2018 Posts: 1,104 Rep Power: 0	Spring Turns Winter Spring Turns to Winter The scrivener’s bequeathing. Our mind’s to learn the teaching. But the damp fades, the lamp shades over the light in earth all reaching. I find a worth and meaning in the time of hurt and scheming. But the moon’s gone, the sun stoked, the fools on the upmost in sky’s to serve as kingly. The grave’s by the street replace my wildest beliefs. Epithets over former doubts, my childhood beneath. How I used to bout with intellect and ignorance. The frost grows across the windows, as tho it were life. Revelations arise from the shadows in my sight. The knocking upon the door is from a vague composition. The survey it bares reveals the psychiatric prison. Beams above me cover my bed. I laid inside but was awoke. The crate of my belongings just dwells in the corner, the cowardice strongly compels me over. I stutter to remove an item and find a place on the shelf, I fear to leave this cave that’s my escape from the yells. I sit upstairs, the entire basement is hell. The frost begins to melt, creating a coat of fog and water. I morn the loss of ice, but still return to my pond to ponder. I assume the skin and flesh, I assume the apple seed. I float by Aesop’s fables towards the pageantry Scrawled inside my cell. The bars begin to bend and break, but I still cannot leave. For it is will that’s my own chains, to avoid a fathoming. The box is still in the corner, I select a book. I note the spelling errors and burn it to heat the room. The warmth renews the freeze once more. I stand and seize the crate, my footprints lead to the door. I lob the falsities into tossing seas, I replace the emptiness with fullness. The mantelpiece’s pages stand to meet the ages. Space where it’s need is there, spots are ready for an assignment. I have replaced belief with knowledge, I have replaced the heat with icicles, I have replaced the wings dormant with these soaring eagles, flying. Last edited by DMS; 01-30-2019 at 09:21 PM.

01-30-2019, 08:09 PM	#2
Sinacog R.Killsbury 3000 Join Date: Dec 2018 Posts: 2,299 Battle Record: 4-25 Rep Power: 8129215	I thought this was a good read, DMS. You had a good out-line of this topic; - had all the essentials for a good topical piece. You didn't really stray away from your topic; - which was nice. I enjoyed your subtle imagery; and prose like writing. I enjoy this metaphor you brought us on - was quite riveting. With you being upstairs; and the basement being a scary place. Nice one. Good poetic prose, near the end. I enjoyed this a lot more than your previous written. Good work, you could up your vocabulary; and maybe use even more imagery. But this was fine...niice one..good work...keep writing! Last edited by Sinacog; 01-30-2019 at 08:12 PM.