Art, Writing, and Learning: The Clerisy Quarter > Poetry and Artistic Writing

Caradìlis' Poems

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Caradìlis:
I know it's not Halloween, but there's a moon outside my window that is looking at me very menacingly, so I just felt like writing this...

Werewolf

Through the window shining bright,
Gleams the moon into the night.
And with torment, pain and ache,
An ancient curse keeps me awake.

Howling, cursing at the moon,
Wishing it was over soon,
Every full moon is the same,
On each one I curse my name.

Pills and potions can't help me,
From this pain I can't be free.
Blooded red is my demise,
When the dreaded moons arise.

On such nights I toss and turn,
When did I this torment earn?
And on mornings I do fear,
I have done some damage here.

I do wonder what I've done,
That warrants what I have become.
Why the Gods do punish me,
I will never truely see.

Understanding is not all,
The rising full moons still do call.
And so I'll howl and curse all night,
At a full moon shining bright.

Jubal:
It's really good :) A couple of minor things - "truly" is he accepted spelling of that word, and maybe "And on each one" or "Upon each one" might scan better?

Caradìlis:
Woops, I didn't have that one in my doodling notebook...  :] Thank you... :)
Yes, you are right, "Upon each one" definitely flows nicer... :)

Caradìlis:
I started writing another fairy tale today and kind of got inspired (more like distracted, since I ended up writing this instead of the rest of the fairy tale...  :))

The Wolf

Once upon a time,
In a forest near,
There was a story, yet untold,
That all the world should hear.

There lived a girl,
Young and innocent,
Ant through the forest deep,
To grandmother's house she went.

In her hands a basket,
With lots of things so good,
And behind her flowing,
A deep red velvet hood.

And down the path,
And through the wood,
Ran happily singing:
Little Red Riding-Hood.

But halt, who is he?
Who crosses her way?
It is big wolf
With fur of grey.

'Hello', says Red,
'Hello', comes the reply,
And after some talking,
They pass eachother by.

But back at home,
When she tells the tale,
Of how she saw a wolf,
They all grow pale.

They take up the pitchforks
And each one their gun,
And through the dark forest,
The huntsmen run.

It matters not,
That the girl is well,
For man likes the wolf,
Just for his hide to sell.

I walked through a forest a long time ago,
There I found a tombstone stand that read:
In the year 1847,
The last wolf was here shot dead.

And I walk throught the forest and think of a time,
When you roamed here free and the forest was thine.

Jubal:
This is a really nice twist on the original, excellent :)

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