The Nature of Poetry

I wrote this for an assignment during school, and it somehow became one of my best pieces of writing, poetry or otherwise.

Spring, the little creek a

crystal path among the roots of the
Earth people, the bright youth

and knotted elders united
in the joy of green vitality
that impregnates them, in the gurgle and chuckle
of the child of the spring.

Summer, the furrow
a dry path in the stone of the
reserved land,
the cracked bones

and withered limbs stretched
towards the flow of crystal life
that left them, towards the fleeting
mirage of ripples on air.

Autumn, the lane
a carpet in the red clay and the
glittering granite,
the yellowed faces

and rumpled skirts broken
by the memory of blue vigour
that quickly fades, by the faint
whisper of a faded spirit.

Winter, the tendril
a furious torrent amidst the
grey ghosts,
the shadowed shapes

and fleeting figures shattered
by the ceaseless pounding of righteous anger
that promises retribution, by the distorted
cry of the lending of life.

Author's Note

Feedback is most welcome as I am still unsure as to where this piece sits in my meagre library.

Reviews

[Peacegal]

I'm speechless..... well sorta lol, u r very talented with words. This flows beautifully, no lie!

[A Modern Hippy]

Thank you. School project turned showpiece. Let's just say the teacher liked it. >D

[Peacegal]

Teacher has taste!

[A Modern Hippy]

Haha! Thanks heaps. >D

[Michel'le]

This is an amazing piece, very well detailed

[A Modern Hippy]

Thank you. :)