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Poetry by 91816119

Literature by Sammur-amat

Beautiful literature by Mrs-Freestar-Bul


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Submitted on
October 17, 2012
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The breeze tousles through the night and his hair.
He sits in expectance for her to come here;
waiting for her to come this way.

Like that first time; her footsteps echoed so loud.
In a night as such not even the moon could be proud.
An ethereal glow she emitted, an embodying light.
The wind ruffled her black locks like an angel in flight.

Her breath was a sanctifying whisper of life
and her dress; oh a woven fabric of natures device.
Her soft traces upon the earth would have grown
the fruit bearing brushwood, piercing through a stone.

The hair settled; the wings retreated, her eyes slowly set
on a young boy tending tulips. Their gaze just then met.
He stared; what else could he do; she stood a little away.
The moon too curtsied to her outlining her portrait.

He stood tranquil, the tulip yet held in his hand.
She smiled and approached like a being with command.
She took the tulip, sniffing in its fragrance, sighing so deep,
the earth purred in compliance underneath her feet.

She smiled, oh a smile so knowing, yet so sad.
Unaware then he was of what was driving her mad.
She returned far 'way to her manor; he stood still.
She placed the tulip in an empty bowl on her window sill;
alas her draining life was now being filled.

The gardener was oblivious of her and her wealth,
her dwelling, her origin; her incurable health.
What he knew was that this girl shall come everyday
and pick a tulip off his garden, she surely will come his way.

The moonlight's placid reflection she was.
Stayed a fullmoon from then onwards, denying all laws.
She appeared through the mist like those sprites of old tales;
forcing sailors through nights to unclasp their sails.

She shall sway to and fro with a smile but no laugh.
He shall point out the best tulips on her behalf.
She shall glance at him and knowingly hide her face
He shall turn while she enfolds the tulip in her grace.

Then suddenly one night, the echoes disappeared.
The night was so empty, the angel's wrath the boy feared.
He waited till late till the moon too resigned
a tulip in one hand, till the sun rose behind.

With uneasiness like a ripple disturbing a pond,
the boy sat that noon, his mind far beyond
the realms of his peace, the confinement of his verve
this foliage of his, an illustrious oeuvre.

He wondered and pondered and wondered again,
whether the skylark shall sing ever again.
He knew not too, where the skylark perched;
thus his mind yearned escape but he couldn't abide by this urge.

So he waited for days, oh for months, no, for years;
feverishly tending tulips which he knew pulled her here.
Beside the gate he sat hoping to see in the haze
her ethereal glow; he sat waiting for her to come this way.

To again stand beside with no words to be said
as she moves so sleekly admiring the tulip bed.
To witness a reach with so tender a touch
and pluck a tulip as delicate as her; was this asking too much?

But the culprit named hope forced the poor boy indeed;
to his allies, reason and time he gave little heed.
Till his ears too gave up on him, his hair too grew thin.
Yet his eyes stayed with him, so did his aching heart within.

If only he could see in the mountains behind
where hidden in depths a forsaken manor you'll find
of its loftiest towers, on the window sill
a bowl was placed which withered tulips now filled.

After many a year…
The breeze still tousles through the night and his hair.
With a tulip in one hand, he sits in expectance,
waiting for her to come this way.
:bulletgreen:What is love? Is it really the aura emitting from a couple huddled in a dark corner? Or two people who fell in love due to greed of money or perhaps status, hiding daggers through physical lust? Or perhaps it is something more subtle? This has always intrigued me. How people interpret love.

:bulletgreen:For me love is a feeling of completion, a serene comfortableness that escalates over physical bonds, physical ecstasy, physical "love". It does not mean you have to marry the other person or have to be in a "relationship". Love requires only presence.

:bulletgreen:This is my birthday gift to everyone reading this work... personally one of my most favorite works but that is my own opinion. For those who would be kind enough to answer a few questions:
.
.
.
There are no questions in this work. Just give your honest opinion, perhaps a bit detailed one over its emotional value and quality. Thank you for reading.

Edit: Thank you for the DLD! It means a lot!
Add a Comment:
 
:iconshehrozeameen:
The opening of this wondrous ballad is, after reading "A Quill's Lament", a wonderful opening. I certainly enjoy its approach.

However, there are certain periods in which regression starts to set in.

The hair settled; the wings retreated, her eyes slowly set
on a young boy tending tulips. Their gaze just then met.
He stared; what else could he do; she stood a little away.
The moon too curtsied to her outlining her portrait.


It is an eerie and, suffice to say, brilliant presentation. But that's the problem: its unsettling.

But then again, the story of a boy who is "waiting for her to come this way" is in essence an unsettling story. Where "Hope" and "Time" and "Reason" (they are proper nouns, might I add) are mere figurines lauding the boy into forsaking his plight (read: kid, she isn't coming, let it go) but his aghast unbecoming self refutes this dire cataclysm which threatens to shatter his fragile form (read: he refuses to believe them, and waits for her to come his way) as the bounties of nature continue to foster the unsettling void into consuming our hero's doubts (read: her fate is unknown; so is the boy's; and thus it is an open ending).

What did I learn after reading this? That this is a good ballad - not a Wordsworth or a Coleridge, but closer to the cyclical nature of Graham or Hardy, with a touch of Yeats and Elliot setting in. Worth the read.
What do you think?
The Artist thought this was FAIR
2 out of 2 deviants thought this was fair.

:iconpuzzledheartbox:
A poem that describes the tenderness and delicate beauty of a fleeting lover’s kiss.. alas not a kiss in this poem, but a tulip that could serve the same purpose. It’s that one moment where both could see each other both desired for the moment, one more than the other.

The boy somehow a silent lover, stoic, enduring, waiting for her return, alas she passed away without a single word, he becomes much like the tulips she gathered over time.. he withers under her absence and suffers due to this kind of love.

The first 4 stanzas really hit home for me, they completely convinced me in the grandeur that is this poem.

All by all a very emotive poem, where sadness over shrouds it all.
What do you think?
The Artist thought this was FAIR
3 out of 3 deviants thought this was fair.

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

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:iconslipcast-chrysalism:
slipcast-chrysalism Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
The starting could be better. 

For me, the flow broke a few times in between but other than that, great work! Beautifully constructed and carried forward! Also, very tragic! :clap:
Reply
:iconnotensmsk:
NotenSMSK Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you! It really means a lot! I personally am fine with the starting but I think that you are right about the flow - this is quite old and so there are a few issues :hmm: I DID write a rework but I have seen people preferring simple versions of my works ^^; like I did a rework of "The lilies she lent".

Thank you very much for the fav! I am glad it was tragic :)
Reply
:iconslipcast-chrysalism:
slipcast-chrysalism Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
In the end it is all about preference! :)

No problem. :)
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:icongingersanps:
Gingersanps Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
This was truly beautiful. I enjoyed reading it. I definitely see the resemblances between the two stories. I'm not one to read much poetry, but this was well written and flowed nicely. 

I also agree on your view of love. Love isn't really an emotion. It's a state of mind. (Yeah, I know. It's weird to think of it that way.) You grow to understand it --- it's not something you know as soon as you're born. 

Thanks for allowing me to read it. :love: 
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:iconnotensmsk:
NotenSMSK Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Also - I totally agree with the concept of love. It IS a state of mind and not an emotion as such.
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:icongingersanps:
Gingersanps Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
:nod: Supposedly, if you manage to survive 5 years with your partner then the relationship is less likely to broken. Anthropology at its finest. So yeah, you have to work at it. 
Reply
:iconnotensmsk:
NotenSMSK Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
I see. That was some serious stuff right? Ah well... I haven't been in a relationship so I cannot say. But 5 years does sound reasonable!
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:iconnotensmsk:
NotenSMSK Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you very much for your comment :huggle: it means a lot and you don't have to thank me :heart:

The characters, both, their state of mind and interaction feels so similar to me :) I would love to see your opinion in other works if possible :huggle: At the same time, I would fish your gallery! :fish: :iconfishingplz: although me commenting on your works is not a bargain for you to comment - I appreciate it if you do and am totally fine if you don't :heart:
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:icongingersanps:
Gingersanps Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
I love if you took a look through my gallery. As for the commenting, I comment on pieces that I feel I must comment on. If that makes any sense. So yeah, I'll be happy to look through your other works. 
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:iconnotensmsk:
NotenSMSK Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
 totally understand and respect that :) I would however still fish through your gallery when I can :D
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