whiteferrarii 123 Share Posted December 18, 2020 (edited) ---Upon a cool afternoon within the city of Providence, a pallid youth sat by his bedroom window, knuckles pale as he gripped his quill and penned words upon a page. His gaze occasionally flicked to peer out over the snow-clogged streets of the city, beyond the walls and to the stretches of sea. With boyish fascination, Vinzant var Ruthern spent hours, lonesome in his room, jotting lines through words he felt clumsily fitted with others and scribbling characters a near dozen times to perfect their particular shape and indent upon the page. He had practised for some time, writing and rewriting, before completing his emotive work.---AN ANCHORED LONGINGPatent shoes, I do not do– I stalk these halls, bare-footed True. Search my pockets for stolen linen, needle, cheese My toes are loud– they creak. At my windowsill, clouds smear the sky like spilt glue and I wonder what toils, what shower will crack from the vault– blessed this pane, rain given unto me. Open the shutters, Cry Havoc! Wet my hands, my cheeks, my face bloom me in this necropolis– raise hydrangeas from my toes I am sick of only water-logged eyes. He watches me– his ruby pupil propped in the eye of a sentry, a marble Aengul his mumbling words, his gripping fist he thunders with no vapour, no downpour I dodge his arcing javelin, his thudding tome. Patent leather, I do not do– I miss my mother, her satin touch her slipper shoe. Wrap me in swaddling silk and cotton, return me to her blooming womb. In every wall is a cornerstone bleak bricks built non-breaking– ‘Am still searching this institution for tiny resolutions, a crack for invasive and engulfing oceans. Spill forth! Let me be Ruther in this moment, Let me hammer my own thunder crumble this tower bring me to the far ice-melt greens. ---352 ES | 3 S.A.written by Vinzant Nikolas var Ruthern Edited December 18, 2020 by whiteferrarii 13 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Imperium 3312 Share Posted December 18, 2020 (edited) Erik var Ruthern smiles as his son begins start writing poems. He'd hang a copy up next to his daughters art work for the whole family to see. Edited December 18, 2020 by Imperium 2 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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