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    Frostina
  • Frostina
  • Author
  • 06/29/2011
  • 231 Words
  • 1,206 Views
  • 26 Comments
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

In The Cold of The Night - 1. Was it just one night...?

The muted sounds of rain against the window,

The quick, sparse flashes of white,

And the deep heavy rumbles of thunder,

Keeps me company in the cold of the night.

 

No book near interesting enough,

Not even by candlelight.

When I am lying awake in bed,

Alone, in the cold of the night.

 

Away from all prying eyes,

Trying, to get myself to write.

Funny, how I can’t even string even three words together,

Even undisturbed; in the cold of the night.

 

Words swirling around in my mind,

Just outside my line of sight;

The notebook still wordless,

Just me fidgeting, in the cold of the night.

 

The flame scorches my wandering finger,

Against my will to scream, I had to fight.

What good it would have done,

To wake everyone, in the cold of the night.

 

How long has it been,

Since your spirit took flight?

Leaving your lifeless body,

With me, in the cold of the night!

 

I can still picture the gravestone I laid upon,

Senseless, night after night;

Till the watchman had to be paid,

To keep an eye on me, in the cold of the night.

 

Charcoals replaced the pen,

The paper sure seemed alright.

Before I knew it I was looking at,

You and me, under the sky, close... In the cold of the night.

Let me know what you thought... in a review.. or maybe a PM... either ways... would love to know! Thanks in advance.
Copyright © 2011 Frostina; All Rights Reserved.
  • Like 9
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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comicfan

Frosty,

 

This was a twisted poem. It began and I thought oh a rainy night and the voice of the poem can't write. One of the times you want to but can't and so you search for something to inspire you. Instead the voice recalls a death and how empty it has made them and how that death left them cold and alone after the passing of their loved one. You always have the ability to bring such powerful emotions to your writing. A moving piece indeed.

 

Wayne.

Frostina
On 06/30/2011 06:37 AM, comicfan said:
Frosty,

 

This was a twisted poem. It began and I thought oh a rainy night and the voice of the poem can't write. One of the times you want to but can't and so you search for something to inspire you. Instead the voice recalls a death and how empty it has made them and how that death left them cold and alone after the passing of their loved one. You always have the ability to bring such powerful emotions to your writing. A moving piece indeed.

 

Wayne.

wayne, believe me when i say this! when i started out, i wanted this one to be a lighthearted one... maybe even a comedy... who knows? But i couldnt stop my fingers! couldnt control the thoughts and couldnt help them from rhyming! it wasnt till after Stu read the first two paragraphs and commented on its seriousness, i hadnt realised that the tone was anything BUT light! what can i say, i'm emotion driven! *sigh* Thank you for the nice words! i can always count on you to have some for me! ^_^
Dannsar

Well, that was weird! Good weird, but weird nevertheless :P

 

I have no real belief in the concept of automatic writing, but the surrealists did have something of a point. Chomsky's generative grammar seems to provide better explanations for me.

 

I think this poem shows that. The difference between where it set out for, and where it arrived at is amazing. But as Wayne said below, the twisted nature of the journey is what's so interesting. But perhaps its not so twisted. There is an emptiness looking for refilling in the metaphor, which is quite fun, but with a rather black tinge to it, even blackly humorous.

 

Really good!

Frostina
On 06/30/2011 08:48 AM, Dannsar said:
Well, that was weird! Good weird, but weird nevertheless :P

 

I have no real belief in the concept of automatic writing, but the surrealists did have something of a point. Chomsky's generative grammar seems to provide better explanations for me.

 

I think this poem shows that. The difference between where it set out for, and where it arrived at is amazing. But as Wayne said below, the twisted nature of the journey is what's so interesting. But perhaps its not so twisted. There is an emptiness looking for refilling in the metaphor, which is quite fun, but with a rather black tinge to it, even blackly humorous.

 

Really good!

Emptiness needing refilling... i like that phrase. :) it's probably true! :*) people we love and lose... we can never really let them go completely... at least i cannot! soo... thanks for the nice words and reading and the review! ^_^
Frostina
On 07/01/2011 02:20 AM, Kev de Cauchery said:
:2thumbs: It's really nice. I'm always partial to rhyming lines.

 

In the cold of the night... I think it's a very cool scene, with cool meaning brilliant and cold. And I love the repeat of the scene.

 

thank you. :D Rhyming comes naturally to me. and so does the candance. lol i dont even have to THINK! :P And, i'm glad you enjoyed it! :D
Frostina
On 07/22/2011 09:14 PM, carringtonrj said:
Dark power. You have a vivid, original imagination. Like!
I'm glad that you like this! Sadly... Poems are tough for me to share, because they are too personal, much too personal, not a lot of imagination involved in them. The goosebumps that came when i re-read what i'd penned lingered for quite a while... a lot of buries memories are dredged up at the most unexpected moments, arent they?
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