DP : Fearful Symmetry

I wrote this in response to the Daily Prompt:
“Pick a letter, any letter. Now, write a story, poem, or post in which every line starts with that letter.”
You can guess which letter I chose.

Wistful thoughts that fly away,

Where they go we cannot say,

Wishful thinking shades the morn,

Waiting where the love is born,

Why do hearts so heavy lie,

When a truth glints in the eye?

Who can say, it’s plain to see,

Woman I belong to thee.


It’s been a long time (or so it feels) since I posted something new, and at last inspiration has paid me a visit. This was written over a few hours here and there today, during quiet moments at work. I hope you like it.

While lost among the wond’ring drones,
A thousand miles away from home,
I spied a heart amongst the litter,
Scarred and bruised, coldly bitter.

It spoke to me with every beat,
In language old and sweetly cheap,
And though it’s skin was harshly battered,
Within my eyes ’twas all that mattered.

With gentle hands I rescued such,
And though ’twas warm did not weigh much,
Where were the pains that caused such anguish,
The hurts that caused this heart to languish?

I placed this heart in em’rald case,
Wrapped in cloth of ancient lace,
I then set out on trip returning,
Desire to find you hotly burning.

I found you there in friendly lands,
You took the case from giving hands,
“My darling you are sore mistaken,
This is not my heart cruelly taken”.

“My heart was lost when we first met,
And it is not recovered yet”,
So hand in hand I took you wand’ring,
The truth of love forever pondering.

The Crows Are Flying Again

Another one that started with the title / final line of each verse, and formed itself around them. I hope you like this one.

Beyond the hills there is a tree,
A bough thats grown for death,
The fraying rope of hangman’s noose
Steals my final breath;
If eyes are cast up to the sky,
Where on their way clouds wend,
You’ll see the watchers on the wing,
The crows are flying again.

Behind the church an endless pit,
A hole to lay my bones,
Enclosing earth to bury me
No chance left to atone,
If ears are tuned to laughing caw,
The silence it forfends,
You’ll hear the feathered judges sing,
The crows are flying again.

Beneath the ground there is a fire,
Eternally it burns,
No more for me the living air,
My world no longer turns.
In cruel lament the ringing cries
Confirm my coming end,
My final thought as long I sleep,
The crows are flying again.