Postby Anna Mae » Sat Jan 13, 2007 3:48 pm
I wrote this one in my childhood. I'm not quite pleased with the ending.
I live in the city
Where trees are as rare as emeralds,
Where fresh, green grass is as common as discarded jade.
You won't find flowers here,
any more than you will find rubies, amethyst, or gold.
As for fresh soil, you may as well search for topaz dust.
Everything is cold, indifferent concrete and steel.
The sky is the color of dismal, billowing smoke.
Findinf a patch of blue sky is as common as sapphires on teh housetops.
You won't see milky quartz wafting through the sky; the clouds are a hopeless grey here.
The sun is always hidden,
casting only a despairing, pale light.
You can't see teh stars at night, nor the moon,
Anymore than you would expect to look up and see pearls strewn across the sky.
At night I drift to sleep to tires screeching, angry voices, and flashing neon signs.
I live in the city,
Where trees are as rare as emeralds or silver.
I live in the country,
where trees are precious.
Their bark is of silver, etched with bronze;
their leaves are the most delicate emerald.
The grass is always fresh and green,
like slivers of jade.
There are many flowers here.
The hyacinths are delicately carved amethyst.
Roses sparkle like rubies.
The hollyhocks have the sheen of pink marble.
Irises sparkle like translucent quartz.
Even the uninvited dandelion is as precious as gold.
The rich soil is like topaz dust,
glowing cheerfully.
The sky is a deep sapphire;
the clouds are wisps of milky quartz.
The sun is a great diamond,
sending sparkles of color across the land.
At night, the moon is a giant pearl;
the stars are like its younger brothers and sisters out to play.
At night, the trickling stream,
cricket's chirp,
and nightingale's song lull me to sleep.
I live in the country,
where trees are as precious as silver and emerald.
Strangers are treated with mistrust and prejudice.
Strangers are welcomed and treated as friends.
I'm just one voice,
crying out in a destitute society.
Is there somebody out there to listen?
Will somebody...
Help
I hear it's not the same in the city.
I will go.
Hope!
[SIZE="4"][color="DarkSlateBlue"]God has called me to mission work in Paraguay and Brazil. I may return to CAA someday. God bless all of you![/color][/SIZE]
[i]Two vast and trunk-less legs of stone stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, half sunk, a shattered visage lies. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare the lone and level sands stretch far away. On the pedestal these words are inscribed:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!â€
