Cimmerian HomeA Poem by Aella.livesThe call came in at a quarter to
noon, The air was fusty and the grounds
were cold. It was a sprat of a man on the other
end, That told me such a thing. My eyes they drift to the far corners
of the room, Where a spider web has formed. The monster in the middle weaves its
home, Writing down my name. I drift apart for a moment or two, Forgetting about the man. And for a second I can believe that
he is a beast, Speaking to me fallaciously. The outside place is devastatingly
beautiful, With a swallow playing a melody on a
branch. Though the walls within this space
are gray, And the lights are dimmed to nothing.
The sounds the man makes are poignant, As he tells me such a thing. The far corners of the room are
calling, Where the spider weaves my Cimmerian home. © 2012 Aella.livesAuthor's Note
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Added on January 12, 2012Last Updated on January 12, 2012 AuthorAella.livesBitter Isles, GAAboutI write poetry and occasionally short stories as a hobby... I am so completely lost in what I want to do with my life.. But I enjoy what little bit of life I do have... I have a cat named Elvis and .. more..Writing
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