Monday, January 30, 2017

Experiment Numero Dos (The Fashionably Late Song/Poem)

Hello world. Yes, yes I know this is about a week late but I have found over the last few weeks I have become a woman of very few words. I have been cursed with some of the worst writer's block i've ever had in my life and just in time to take a creative writing class (oh joy of joys.) Everything is sort-of composed in my brain but on paper it is coming out in word fragments; it's like walking with a plate of confetti in hand then going outside to the Santa Ana winds and trying to catch it as it flies. In any case I hate posting things that are not perfect or finished... or something so short but I'm hoping what little I have can get some advice on how to make it somewhat acceptable. 

This song/poem is inspired by old medieval ballads that I am actually very fond of listening too, I was listening to some and an image came to mind of a maiden setting out into a storm for a sad and  unknown fate at the other end of the sea. This is my sort-of ode to the Arthurian tale of Tristan and Isolde so i've here by knight it as "Isolde's Song" until I can get a better title in place or until the song is actually finished.  I'm trying to go for music that is more celtic inspired or even a fusion of new world; think Loreena McKennitt or Enya.  Thank you all for your time and I look forward to reading all of your works and envying you all for being able to write so quickly. Have a great day and battle on my lovelies.

Isolde's Song

Blessรจd are the few that know youth's toils

Can'st thou see the fair pilgrim's pride?
The melancholy green in a maiden's eyes
That's sun-kissed upon summer's golden bride.
A heart that beats wild on a tempest tide
An ocean deep where that heart doth lies.
Sailed for a fate of which stars defied.

Can'st thou hear the west wind straining?
Between gales lost echoes banshee's cry
Bid thee farewell the old moon is waning
The old world laid behind with renewed spirits shaming.
Zephyr's golden lyre bellows a traitorous sigh 
The fair maiden travels, herself betraying.

Whir, whir, swirls the sun's golden greens
Faded now shines heaven's grey upon tempests strong
Pale shimmers now blacken the gossamer seas.

Can't thou hear the sea's low moaning song?

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