Thursday, October 16, 2008

Vain Spirits

(Written at age 15.)

The wind was blowing, the tides were high,
Dominating the cacophony was the restless owl’s cry,
The moon shone challengingly bright;
It seemed to be a duelling night.

Then, along the shore, on the damp, cool sand
The air materialized, and there appeared to stand
Two knights – with swords, armour and all,
Listening, with eyes closed, to the heart wrenching call.

And o’er the ocean there came into view
A princess in her bridal gown, so glamorously white and new.
She lowered her voice: the knights opened their eyes.
They lunged to kill, for She was the winner’s prize.

But as had been happening for centuries so many,
Both swords found their targets; there wasn’t winner any.
She let fall her eyelids over her eyes: as always, left behind;
She went to no one: neither the villain, nor the one of her kind.

The wind now whispered, the tides were low,
No sound was heard, neither owl nor crow,
The moon slid inconspicuously behind a cloud;
The night was wrapped in a mourning shroud.

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