New member intro
Hello to everyone. My name's Brit; I'm new to the community. Of course, like the other members here, I adore Snape. I'm especially fascinated by pre-canon Snape; I often contemplate on his adolescent life, or what it would've been like. I wonder about his family, the early relationships he made with friends and with his parents, and his bond (if there ever was one) with his mother. Although I enjoy most Snape fics, I truly relish in particular any stories that explore these subjects. This is the reason why I was initially attracted to this community, devoted to the pre-canon Snape. I've already read some excellent fics here (great job to everyone who posts these fics) and I believe I'm ready to share a poem I've recently written. The poem entitled 'Fatal' features a very young and melancholy Snape. It's quite brief and innocent, also a bit sad. Hope you enjoy.
Theirs was a cold, fatal love
Which, over time, withered black like the earth in winter
And left them both embittered
It made a permanent scowl on his hardened face
Behind her sour countenance lingered a yearning melancholy
Tension lay thick in the already-cramped home
The boy felt its weight on his thin shoulders, pressing at his throat like a fist
Sometimes at night, he curled up on his tiny bed, lonely and neglected
He withdrew into himself, ignoring the harsh cacophony storming beneath him
Flickering on his closed eyelids, a safe image -
Of pale freckled skin, glittering verdant green, loops of shining red hair
To this, he clung with a desperation enhanced by the turmoil of emotions in his chest
It was a shaft of light in his dark and bleak existence
A warm breath, almost like a sigh
Followed then by a scream
Theirs was a cold, fatal love
Which, over time, withered black like the earth in winter
And left them both embittered
It made a permanent scowl on his hardened face
Behind her sour countenance lingered a yearning melancholy
Tension lay thick in the already-cramped home
The boy felt its weight on his thin shoulders, pressing at his throat like a fist
Sometimes at night, he curled up on his tiny bed, lonely and neglected
He withdrew into himself, ignoring the harsh cacophony storming beneath him
Flickering on his closed eyelids, a safe image -
Of pale freckled skin, glittering verdant green, loops of shining red hair
To this, he clung with a desperation enhanced by the turmoil of emotions in his chest
It was a shaft of light in his dark and bleak existence
A warm breath, almost like a sigh
Followed then by a scream