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How To Tear Apart A Soul

Discussion in 'The Story Board' started by Faethie, Jun 10, 2008.

  1. Faethie

    Faethie Rockstarrlette

    Jan 25, 2005
    Likes Received:
    I haven't posted anything in ages, so I figured I might as well give you guys a taste of what I've been working on. This poem I wrote for an assignment but I think it's decent. =]

    How To Tear Apart A Soul

    Under the silent moon blazing,
    A naked soul was gazing,
    Gazing, gazing out at the night.
    Night stared back, dismally desolate,
    Blood sunk from her body like sweat,
    Her face wielding a green smile emitting fright.

    Beneath the ominous moon’s shadow there was a dark room,
    And a dying light bulb gave the darkness a gloom,
    Instead of hope for the one struggling silent within.
    And in the quiet darkness as the Night tolled upon her
    A noise crept up the stairs, causing barely a stir
    Until it blared through the room, no longer thin.

    A screak, a screech, a shriek, a scream-
    yes, a scream, pierced to the extreme;
    So loud that she threw down her paints and held her head with her hands.
    Her whole body trembled as the scream traveled her veins;
    One hand managed to knock over her glass of champagne
    Until it ceased, and she began to understand.

    The violet walls had not changed, and neither had the painting;
    The wooden chair she never touched was still remaining:
    So the only change was in the memory of Cassandra Blake.
    She looked out the broken window at the street below
    To see if from hence the scream had come to show,
    But Night and her shadow were the only ones awake.

    Cassandra turned around to look at the painting which sat glumly;
    With a gasp she reached out to touch a shadow numbly
    But was only met with the touch of paint upon her fingers.
    The shadow was real upon the canvas
    And whispered through the wind a kiss-
    A kiss and a whisper but not only just to linger.

    A haunting kiss upon her lips which had stayed since its last;
    For she knew the way he kissed but only in the past,
    So how could he come tonight?
    Still a hope blossomed in her bosom,
    Of what the two could still become,
    And followed the wind out of the light.

    The wind caressed her neck as she tread down the stairs,
    And she sighed as she spoke his name in the air;
    She tasted his name on her tongue as she spoke.
    The wind spiraled off the street and onto the dark fields of green,
    And the Night laughed sadistically at the teen,
    As Cassandra walked through Night’s cloak.

    The wind paused to take a breath,
    And Cassandra watched an Oak Tree’s death,
    Only to hear in the background a dog barking.
    It seemed as if the hound had destroyed the Tree;
    Foaming at the mouth, red eyes as of a banshee,
    An owl appeared and hooted as if remarking.

    But the dog was gone, and the owl lost;
    And the Tree lay against the ground covered in frost-
    Perhaps it had lain there for years?
    Cassandra sat down and watched the wind tickle a dying flower
    Until the Night danced in her darkest hour-
    For seventeen minutes danced without fear.

    A scream shattered through all other sounds,
    A grasshopper fell dead to the ground,
    Cassandra opened her mouth and could not produce a noise.
    A white cat ran by and Cassandra took chase,
    The scream died and she kept up her pace,
    Until she came to a river, and the cat lay down with poise.

    Cassandra looked at her reflection in the river,
    Only to gasp and move back with a shiver-
    For Night herself seemed to be reflected in Cassandra’s vision.
    Her brown hair was limp, her yellow eyes sunken,
    Her pale skin was moist and her features were shrunken;
    Eric called with a whisper to make a decision.

    Cassandra sunk down into the bank of the river with closed eyes,
    To fall asleep in Night’s arms as she planned her demise,
    Only to dream.
    Cassandra sat at a loom, weaving an intricate design
    Of beautiful colors and patterns intertwined,
    Of a certain regime.

    Then he stepped in, his head held high,
    With a smile on his face, he carried her up to the sky,
    But the sky turned black and then they fell.
    She landed alone on her loom, and wove like she hadn’t before,
    The colors deep and dark like his blood on the floor,
    Blood he had spilled when they had bid farewell.

    He still whispered to her every day;
    She could never keep him away-
    But kept weaving.
    Now he appeared as beautiful as ever,
    Offering her a new endeavor;
    Still believing.

    And he tore up the threads and tore up the loom,
    Until the tapestry became a tomb,
    The walls were white, the windows clean.
    Night woke Cassandra from her sleep,
    And she knew what to do as she started to weep,
    That to break the tapestry was easily seen.

    So she set one foot in the water,
    The other followed into self-slaughter,
    Walking in the cold depths she did not stop.
    Night thought over the situation,
    And smiled at the girl in admiration,
    As Cassandra’s head began to drop.

    Her air bubbles ceased to bubble,
    Night was satisfied with her trouble.
    Night wiped her nose and soon was gone.
    Brown hair drifted with the seaweed.
    The question remains- did Cassandra succeed?
    A blood red sun appeared with the dawn.

    Paints dried on a lonely canvas,
    Not feeling something amiss-
    Except that of an unfinished painting.
    A wind snaked through the window,
    Whispered a secret but not a hello,
    Nor goodbye, but a secret, it left remaining.

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