Young Writers Society

^^ Please read.





The Old Crone
(Title may change)


A sweet sigh the wind does give, through gaps of branches thin.
Clinging leaves release tenacious holding, drifting softly on the breeze.
Below a myriad of green, rippling as might waves of the sea,
Rustling, making naught the softest of sounds once alighted- this leaf.

Hark! Laughter bubbles through the stillness, a sweet melody of sound,
Ignorant of life, of all resting at one's feet, a child ventures forth- into unknown.
Face haloed in gold, framing one's face feathered lightly with pixie dust.
A gaze of innocence, inate and undulating with thoughts of light and joy.

A crown of daisies placed upon her head by small hands of a young prince.
Ah! A feather-light kiss upon boyish lips grants no wishes this day.
Young prince, take pity on this gentle child; steal away childhood dreams.
Too soon must one age, like brittle grass it begins to slowly wither.

Her sweet smile vanished amidst torrents of tears, ungrateful of this deed.
So quiet is the distance stretching, expanding until she vanishes
A hunched crone stands amidst the green, undulating, rippling as might the sea.
The young prince run away, fleeing before what he has done.

Old crone with eyes wide and blue, peer into the past and remember
Held within wrinkled fingers, a crown of daisies sit in the palm of her hand,
Her young prince has gone away, stolen by the dark of night
Her childhood lost, his tongue did spear the hopes and dreams away.

"Lay down your head, old crone, old friend..." a whisper near her ear.
She closed her eyes, listening, straining to hear but only wind is heard.
Ah, no laughter breaks the stillness, no joyous cry of delight.
Ignorance and innocence, tied together with a stone; set in the water to sink.

A sweet sigh the wind does give, through gaps of branches thin.
Clinging leaves release tenacious holding, drifting softly on the breeze.
Below a myriad of green, rippling as might waves of the sea,
Making naught the softest of sounds; the old crone, closed her eyes and died.

I can't think of a single change to perfect this poem. It already is perfect, the way I see it.

Free verse poetry is one of the hardest types of poetry to write well. The lack of form usually leads many writers into having a piece that is more like prose.
Now, what you've done here is the kind of thing that deserves to be printed on golden parchment and hung in a place of great valour. You have made things so... poetic. Everything flows so nicely. But then again, emotional spur-of-the-moment pieces usually are the best ones. They convey so much feeling and meaning. You have followed the poet's mantra to every letter: Tell with images, not words.
The only nitpick I have is from this line here:

Held within wrinkled hands, a crown of daisies sit in the palm of her hand,

"Held within her wrinkled fingers would work so much better. A common rule is not to use the same words as a focus point too close together.
Other than that, what you have created is a true masterpiece, worthy of 100 out of 5 stars.

Hello there, I'm here as requested.

I want to state that I'm not the greatest with poetry, but I'll try my best.

drifting softly in the breeze.

I think 'in' the breeze sounds better than 'on'. If you decide to change it, don't forget you are saying it again in the 22nd line. (yes, I counted them... )

Overall, this poem was great. It flows very well, like others have said before me. The story you're telling us is great and the way you're doing it is even better. I could easily see the emotion behind it, with the word choice and the rhythm the poem has. This is pretty much all I've got to say...

Sorry, for the short review, but I hope it was helpful! Voilà monsieur.

Keep on writing.

-Other One