Post by whisper on Jan 10, 2011 20:20:42 GMT -8
This is our second assignment for creative writing...we're supposed to take a person or relationship and describe it using a metaphor.
I stand there, facing him,
miles apart in the small room
my fast breath billowing in chill clouds,
illuminating the icy words that hang in the air
the dead silence that descends crackles and
crushes like snowfall that blankets
a winter tree and
freezes.
The empty tree groans under the weight,
heavy drooping boughs reach desperately toward ground where,
weeks before, its leaves had sprawled
at its roots, crinkled wrinkled dry
brown and rotting,
no longer a part of its life.
I stand there, facing him,
wondering who he has become,
how it came to this.
I remember the green, green summer
and the tree flourishing with branches full and tall
tall in their pride
as the sun warms its leaves and a gentle breeze tickles
its rough, rutted bark and
nothing can be wrong.
But the seasons change,
and the tree’s leaves are lit with a fire of color
blushing and burning under a fierce
battering of the wind,
gone is the gentle whisper for wind forgets
its friends as easily as the sun rises
and it bites with cold teeth
the leaves that writhe and twist
as they strain to break free
with that last ounce of defiance and strength
until finally, they’re
falling, falling in a rush of air
slipping, tumbling, plunging to the ground
and they’re free but it’s not fair
it’s not far until they hit the root-crusted dirt
and then they’re stuck
they’re grounded at the mercy of the traitor wind
ready to blow them far away
as the tree stands there, motionless,
miles away from home.
<33 Whisper
I stand there, facing him,
miles apart in the small room
my fast breath billowing in chill clouds,
illuminating the icy words that hang in the air
the dead silence that descends crackles and
crushes like snowfall that blankets
a winter tree and
freezes.
The empty tree groans under the weight,
heavy drooping boughs reach desperately toward ground where,
weeks before, its leaves had sprawled
at its roots, crinkled wrinkled dry
brown and rotting,
no longer a part of its life.
I stand there, facing him,
wondering who he has become,
how it came to this.
I remember the green, green summer
and the tree flourishing with branches full and tall
tall in their pride
as the sun warms its leaves and a gentle breeze tickles
its rough, rutted bark and
nothing can be wrong.
But the seasons change,
and the tree’s leaves are lit with a fire of color
blushing and burning under a fierce
battering of the wind,
gone is the gentle whisper for wind forgets
its friends as easily as the sun rises
and it bites with cold teeth
the leaves that writhe and twist
as they strain to break free
with that last ounce of defiance and strength
until finally, they’re
falling, falling in a rush of air
slipping, tumbling, plunging to the ground
and they’re free but it’s not fair
it’s not far until they hit the root-crusted dirt
and then they’re stuck
they’re grounded at the mercy of the traitor wind
ready to blow them far away
as the tree stands there, motionless,
miles away from home.
<33 Whisper
