It's been nigh on 4 years since I've written anything. In high school, I was prolific, and in college, I wrote little, but what I did write was better. Now, here I am, and I've lost most of my poems, but here's some I have.
First, I'm going to try a word sonnet:
Well, I'm rusty.
Now, something I wrote in college.
<b>The Hall of Portraits</b>
Oaken floors, scented cedar walls.
Vermillion curtains accent brilliant sunlight.
This is my hall, with portraits of myself.
Each one framed in ebony, each
tells a tale in its own style.
The first, a small child at play in the fields,
is done in rich colors, sharp detail.
The smile on his fresh lips complements
the sparkle in his eyes. He is chasing a puppy,
his only intention to embrace.
It is a lovely portrait, but few see it.
A couple, caring in expression and decrepit with
this portrait covers <u>The Boy</u>.
Its title: <u>Parenthood</u>.
There are still other portraits in the hall,
The next is an alchemist bent over his low-lit desk.
Soft, blurred strokes portray a tired man
pursuing knowledge. The remains of many candles
lie as testament to his undending goal.
<u>Alchemista</u> is very popular today.
<u>Onward To Chivalry!</u> comes next.
A knight, hidden behind tempered steel
forever fights a fearsome beast,
rank fire belching from his terrible maw.
The beast has a name, Malemundi.
Stern determination is seen on his uncovered face,
for he will not let the innocent be harmed,
a damsel at his back.
This piece is readily losing popularity.
Here is the last piece.
The owner of the gallery keeps this painting
on display, even though few care for it.
A man, tired, browbeaten, created by uneven
stoops to help a less fortunate soul, wounded.
Dark soldiers all around look intently on their prey.
Yet the man doesn't fail to help, even at the end.
It is the owner's favorite piece,
It still hangs there today,
still collecting dust from unappreciative souls.
Well, I suppose that's about it. I'd like any critique you can give me, Frank.