Moon Lit Path (Poetry)

"Moonlit Path"

Wet brick path.
Splash, a soft thud.
Man walking.
In traveling cloak,
sword on his shoulders.
Along this river path
he treads.
Beneath Trees,
soft breeze, rustle
of leaves.
Pale white, pure
moonlight, illuminates
the night.
The river carries
in it soft cherry
blossoms. Swirling
down stream
he keeps steady,
his gait.
Coming his way:
Beauty. Soft brown
hair, tumbles in curls
down her neck,
silent, restful, upon
her soft shoulders.
Surge, Excitement
in his heart:
Her smile.
The traveling one
halts, the girl
stops. The river
freezes, breeze hushes,
not daring
to breathe. No
Sound. Vacuum.
Crack and break,
make no mistake.
Eyes locked, not
daring to shatter
the twining silver
thread of twilight
between their gazes,
holding them together.
Her soft, brown
eyes melt him.
Inside he seeps
through the freckles
of her iris,
and he feels warmth,
and sunlight.
Could be: Hope.
Seperate; away.
Refreshing, cooling,
weightless caress of
a sigh. The green trees
rustle, and he
holds her close.
Smells the ocean
in her hair.
Sunlight trickles
through cracks
in the treetop
canopy. Ivy
creeps up the soft
brown trunks.
Ancient, lost,
neglected grove.
Warmth, sanctuary,
security. One, two,
three, ten fingers
entertwined, five to
each hand. Birds,
the humming sort,
flitter by, stop
around their heads. Suspended,
perpetual: kiss.
Lips, seperate,
wavering, dissipating.
Chilly night,
present time.
His eyes lower,
stare at the
ground. She
takes one, two
steps toward
him. Trickle, fall
shatter, his
crystal tears,
melt into the
glossy brick
path. Lost:
Forever. A reach,
a sweep, a step, a swish,
time frozen. Blood,
Suspended: Fast forward.
Splattered
the man sinks to his
knees. Tears of glass
melt onto the wet brick.
She falls,
said goodbye.
Never To Love.
Again.

I don’t
quite understand
what the point
of writing
a poem like this
is supposed
to be.

🙁

I got it from "The Red Wheel Barrow" and the poem about the plums by the same guy. Also it was inspired by the guy who road "the subway" or something, which was a two liner to the effect of "The Train passes swiftly.
The Passengers ghosts to my eyes" or something about ghostly faces or something like that. Maybe you’ve read them?

EDIT: This is "The Red Wheelbarrow":
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

And here’s the plum one:
by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

No, but it sounds like crap. If you have to use gimmicks in your poetry, it’s an automatic strike.

What? I’m sorry you dislike William Carlos Williams, and the fact I was inspired by his poetry. Thanks for the constructive criticism.

I don’t
quite understand
what the point
of writing
a poem like this
is supposed
to be.

🙁

<IMG ALIGN="left" SRC="http://atlas.imagemagician.com/images/considerspace/eeyore.gif">
<font face="verdana" size="-1" color="#000000">
sitting on thistles
doesn’t do them
any good
takes all the
life
out of them</font>

No, but it sounds like crap. If you have to use gimmicks in your poetry, it’s an automatic strike.

I agree, polish yourself up before you starting writing things like this. Some ‘lines’ were random crap and it would be better if you shortned it mabye, but i’d be interested in more of your stuff.