Every Word~

Emotions of the past scrawled out in a poem about change. 
This poem is old, but I haven't posted any poetry in ages! So I'm going back through my schoolwork to find some... I'm going to get to writing again this Spring/Summer. Some stuff that isn't so dismal...

She reached into her pocket

And withdrew a dream.

And as she brought it out,

She too withdrew, it seemed

From things that were no more,

And now would never be:

Clenched within a resolved fist,

Setting her soon free.

Cast unto the burning flames

Consuming care-worn note,

Every bit removed forever...

Every word he wrote. 

Copyright Hannah Scarlett 2013

Echo~

A shout among the cavern,

A voice betwixt the hills,

A song along a stone cave floor

Where languid water spills. 

A mighty, deep-sung baritone,

A shrill cry of the wind

Repeated 'til the fading notes

Have long out-rung their din.

Ricochet from wall to wall,

Whispers from the past...

Echo, echo, 'til they leave

A void of silence vast.

Déjà vu of bygone days

Haunting to return.

Dwell upon the ringing sound

And perhaps at long-last learn. 

Ponder the words that fly,

Ever growing distant.

Will you fall to Siren's song

Or is your heart resistant?

Ricochet from east to west,

Darting oh so fast...

Echo, echo 'til they end

In hollow silence vast.

Heed the sweet reflection,

Strive to understand.

It ripples into untold void

Beyond the reach of hand. 

So sing into the valley,

Shout into the wood,

Listen to the spoken words,

Reflect if they were Good. 

Ricochet from heart to heart

So our words are cast,

Will they make a joyous heart,

Or echo silence vast...?

Copyright Hannah Scarlett 2013

Poetry~

Prophets speak the fervent words,

Passion sings from hearts of birds.

Pondering concepts from dawn of time,

Perfection breathed in flawless rhyme. 

Peaceful, calm, flowing sweet...

Pure and fearless, bold, complete.

Prayers on the wind, given to song,

Poems delicate, dauntless, strong.

Copyright Hannah Scarlett 2013

The Weaver~

A worn pencil stub for sword,

A faded notebook for shield,

Like the knights in her tales,

These weapons she wields.

Writing is a constant battle

'twixt self and inspiration,

Too often characters run away

And defy their given station.

She fights them to submission,

Pins down wayward plots,

Is strict containing them,

Training rampant thoughts.

It takes much practice

To acquire needed skill

In the art of writing thought

Down orderly and still.

But once basics are mastered

The first beast caged,

She can escape through every

Smudged, penned page.

She can see through every mindset

From heroine to foe,

Go places that do not exist,

Except in heart and soul.

Taming words, she is set free.

To wander as she may:

A dancer, or an actress.

Flip through her dossier.

Possibilities are endless,

Do well to believe in her...

For she will be an artist:

Words her silk, she their weaver.

Copyright Hannah Scarlett 2012