Soujin (rainbowjehan) wrote in absurdword,

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*waves anxiously*

Hallo, I'm new. Enclosed below is poetry, not in my usual style, but in my usual words. Evidentally I'd been reading The Oxford Book of Story Poems too many times.

The Tragedy of the Young Composer

Rain like thunder, and
thunder like rain, and
the boy shall never
come home again
and the sky is pale while the winds are strong
but he has been away too long
Too long,
the song
that's gone
goes on
But the tree limbs knock on the windowpane
and the boy shall never come home again

Notes like thunder;
a musical note
on the black piano;
the song he wrote
But the world goes around and around again
and the song plays on like the wind and the rain
These days
it plays--
Who hears
the years
the tears
and fears
hurting the madman and maddening the sane?--
but the boy shall never come home again

Hands like thunder, and
thundering hands:
Crash and crash like
waves on sands
And the song swirls on like a pool down a drain
He watches and stares 'till he doubts he's sane
Go down!
the sound
grows soft;
they hold back the thunder and the rain
but the boy shall never come home again

Rain like thunder, and
thundering rain,
ratta-tat-tat on the
While the wind is blowing and the song goes on
They say to each other, 'when will't be gone?'
It stays
and plays
and years
or fears
Make their tears come like the coming of rain
But the boy, he never comes home again



There are waves to chase and
a foamy face
and scales and tails and curls to place
But whose is which and
what is mine?
Raindrops running down a sign
which says one must respect the sea--
the wide and neverending sea--
the sea which lies in front of me--
But, oh, who reads the sign?

I respect the sighs and
the scale-rimmed eyes
and the words I heard, preferred though lies
But I cannot hold and
it's gone too soon
Nothing left but sea and moon
which say one should respect them both--
the ocean and the white moon both--
by pledging heart and hand and troth--
But I've never loved the moon.

I've loved the smiles and
the tall shell piles
and the land of sand; the hot green isles
But the world comes quick and
makes them hide
I find that my respect has died:
the love is gone; I stand alone--
on the moonlit shore, once more alone--
without a face to call my own--
For the eyes and smiles have died.
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