There’s a melody, a voice of myself:
a timbre, a tone a faintness in echo
of ash; a footstep that’s planted in stealth
in the night, a fading finale, a larghetto
when saved for the last: our music, the waltz
you declined with a smile and your arms
wrapped around his neck; when with salt
from his lips you left me alone and disarmed.
I’m left on his road, in haze of my breath
to footsteps in snow and frost on my coat.
My valley is dark, but up on the crest
your hair is the silver; it tells me to cope
My voice is a wind, I’m here by myself
I can wait for a sign, recover to health
Today Victoria want’s us to write a poem from first person perspective (real or imagined) at dVerse, and pay attention how the tone changes with the perspective. We open the doors at 3PM EST.
February 24, 2016