03-13-2013, 11:44 PM
Edit 2
Dead before death.
Captured early by time decomposing.
With morbid stubbornness, her stagnant life
oozes in incremental drips of putrid atrophy.
Every mortal, fatally flawed action;
simple things, finger tips teasing her hair, cares
wind blown, are rebuffed and woodenly resisted.
She crystallised; entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which nothing
can grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every rigor mortised
reduction. Until life is brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.
She wears her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
An ill borne blossom out of season, she refuses to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.
She died too young.
Edit 1
Dead before death.
Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She can not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet resistant to all movement and change.
She crystallised; entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which nothing
can grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised
reduction. Until life is brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.
She wears her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
An ill borne blossom out of season, she refuses to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.
She died too young.
Original post
Tectak inspired me - he did a set rhymed poem, which he doesn't enjoy or get into normally, so I've tried one without a formal stucture or rhyme. I find this v hard, but determined to work this out. (This is another "new prompt" poem. Inspiration taken from Christina Rossetti sonnet of same title).
Dead before death.
Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She could not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet, resistant to all movement and change.
She crystallised, entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which, nothing
could grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised,
reduction. Until life was brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.
She wore her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
A blossom borne out of season, she refused to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.
She died too young.
Dead before death.
Captured early by time decomposing.
With morbid stubbornness, her stagnant life
oozes in incremental drips of putrid atrophy.
Every mortal, fatally flawed action;
simple things, finger tips teasing her hair, cares
wind blown, are rebuffed and woodenly resisted.
She crystallised; entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which nothing
can grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every rigor mortised
reduction. Until life is brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.
She wears her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
An ill borne blossom out of season, she refuses to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.
She died too young.
Edit 1
Dead before death.
Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She can not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet resistant to all movement and change.
She crystallised; entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which nothing
can grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised
reduction. Until life is brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.
She wears her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
An ill borne blossom out of season, she refuses to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.
She died too young.
Original post
Tectak inspired me - he did a set rhymed poem, which he doesn't enjoy or get into normally, so I've tried one without a formal stucture or rhyme. I find this v hard, but determined to work this out. (This is another "new prompt" poem. Inspiration taken from Christina Rossetti sonnet of same title).
Dead before death.
Captured early by the ravages of time.
Spiky and stubborn in her composure.
Mortally wounded. Fatally flawed.
She could not enjoy the simple things. The wind
blowing through her hair…it, set and bored stiff,
yet, resistant to all movement and change.
She crystallised, entombed within,
embalmed in over salted brine, in which, nothing
could grow or thrive. Laid out in firm resolution
awaiting death, embracing every morbid, rigor mortised,
reduction. Until life was brought down to the lowest,
gravest spec of dust. Six feet of cold empty excavation.
She wore her death well,
a cherished shroud upon her breast,
A blossom borne out of season, she refused to thrive.
A fruitlet that falls for no reason.
She died too young.