Ecphrastic Poem
Hello fellow LJ-ers~ Been a while it has been since I've posted. I'm currently in my english class reading Harry Potter. We just presented our Ecphrastic poems. I feel like I should share the one I wrote and my friend's also. He's talented :D Please tell us your thoughts on these. We'd love to hear them^^
My Peom~
They walk along the worn and battered streets,
their guns in tensed grips.
The walls begin to chafe and the ground begins to crumble.
The smell of death thickens the farther they go.
They try to look away from their fallen comrades
and want to ignore the truth.
They want to believe it's all a lie,
that their brother or friend isn't really dead.
That's not the person we knew and cared about
is what runs through their heads.
You're not dead
is what they desperately want to believe.
A horrible taste forms in their mouths
and an awful feeling blossoms in the pit of their stomachs.
Ignore the screams and keep moving.
This is war.
My friend's poem
We open our eyes
From this sudden shock,
the ringing is receding
Our homes are to a pulp
Our hopes begin to die
The smell of goods burning
Dirt and dust sabotage our taste buds
Parts of this urban lay upon us
Our foes become our friends
We see our true adversary
The smoke blackens the streets
Rubble covers places of memories
Cries are heard from every block
We hear the traumatizing sound of the metal birds
We run for shelter from their droppings
These birds have their mission
They have no heart or mind of their own
For they do what they are told
We see nothing more but an imminent end
To this place we used to call home
My Peom~
They walk along the worn and battered streets,
their guns in tensed grips.
The walls begin to chafe and the ground begins to crumble.
The smell of death thickens the farther they go.
They try to look away from their fallen comrades
and want to ignore the truth.
They want to believe it's all a lie,
that their brother or friend isn't really dead.
That's not the person we knew and cared about
is what runs through their heads.
You're not dead
is what they desperately want to believe.
A horrible taste forms in their mouths
and an awful feeling blossoms in the pit of their stomachs.
Ignore the screams and keep moving.
This is war.
My friend's poem
We open our eyes
From this sudden shock,
the ringing is receding
Our homes are to a pulp
Our hopes begin to die
The smell of goods burning
Dirt and dust sabotage our taste buds
Parts of this urban lay upon us
Our foes become our friends
We see our true adversary
The smoke blackens the streets
Rubble covers places of memories
Cries are heard from every block
We hear the traumatizing sound of the metal birds
We run for shelter from their droppings
These birds have their mission
They have no heart or mind of their own
For they do what they are told
We see nothing more but an imminent end
To this place we used to call home