Today marks day two of National Poetry Writing Month!
Today’s prompt is this: Write a poem that tells a lie, or is entirely made of lies.
I went a bit off the deep end with this one. My imagination liked it.
Speculation about the end of the world –
Stories with such intricacy unfurled:
The death of Odin by a wolf dire,
The earth will drown, the sky fill with fire.
Antichrist will come from the depths of hell,
to treat the world as his own corral.
In the blood of millions, Hathor will wade,
to purge the world of the evil Ra made.
In the form of Kalki, Vishnu will appear
To make the world of chaos clear.
Of a means unknown, zombies abound,
to eat our brains and moan aloud.
But those are just silly, they cannot be true –
Clearly, the world will be consumed by Cthulu.
I’ve decided to participate in National Poetry Writing Month.
The Goal: A poem a day for the entirety of April
The site is: http://www.napowrimo.net/
Today’s prompt: write a poem starting with the first line of a famous poem.
I chose “The Song of Wandering Aengus” by W.B. Yeats, because it is currently one of my favourites.
Enter the Twilight
I went out to the hazel wood,
a faerie there to find.
I weaved among the hazel trees,
the tallest one, did climb.
I looked out on the forest there
and saw many a thing:
the trees and leaves and clouds above,
a clearing, and a spring.
So to that spring I made my way –
deeper into that wood.
And at the break of twilight hour,
appeared a solemn druid.
“Come walk with me,” was what she said,
and beckoned with her hand.
She led me to the little spring –
I walked onto the sand.
I never came away that day.
The faeries hold me close.
Eternal twilight is my home:
This destiny I chose.
The thrum of daily life
The never-ending pulse
That carries through the night
Can never be repulsed
All the noise and bustle
The sounds we always hear
Stop a single rustle
From reaching any ear
If we stopped one moment
If we missed a beat
We’d hear the Earth’s torment
So loud in every street
It tells us it’s dying
But we don’t care to hear
Even though it’s trying
It will be dead one year.