A Country Girl's Writing

I peered beneath the surface A view caught my gaze, One of distant beauty That none could ever gage. It was powerful and priceless, Full of deadly and living things; Of animals and bees. The creatures all seemed calm And in perfect harmony. Maybe never seen before By a human like me. Though I knew I shouldn't I couldn't help myself, So I touched the surface with my finger. I had no fear and little doubt. With an unbearable pain I drew it back As I watched the ripple I created poison everything. The surface that I'd touched The beauty that I'd seen Slowly seemed to fade And shrivel up and die. My finger it got worse And my tears didn't help. My body began to shake uncontrollably. I tried to grasp for something But in vain there was nothing. I fell to my knees in dreadful agony And passed out from the pain. When I awoke I could barely stand. The sight I saw gave me no doubt That I was the human Who had snuffed life out. Out of a wor...

Another dark poem. Written a couple weeks ago.  I felt the breathe and presence Of something dark and dirty. It sent a frozen chill Up my heated body. I shivered in the cold That bit me in the back, and whispered in the darkness, "Please, give me one last chance." I there than became aware, Rime fingers on my shoulder. I tried to move away They grasped me much harder. The warmth in my body It slowly diminished. As I stood there by myself Ice forming on my body. I endured the ice crawling, Descending my arms and legs, Taking lastly my heart. That's when it stopped beating. When the ice ceased crawling It's sweet, eerie, voice said "Ice is a pleasant color To look at upon your head. " No longer could I answer, Nor could I cry-out in pain. I stood there dead, with dread Frozen upon my face. By Evelyn Creon

This poem was inspired by the myth of the Grim Reaper. He is know for collecting the souls from people when their time is up.   I saw a figure  Descending down Upon a feeble body; Reaping 'way life  With it's own breathing.  That foul figure  Paralyzed me, Into a macabre fear That stiffened me, While it disappeared.  The feeble being That I had seen  No longer was it breathing  The figure, a brute, Took life an' now me.  By Evelyn Creon

 I 'm do excited for this short story. I've been wanting to share it with all of you for the past two weeks, but it wasn't ready two weeks ago.   It was inspired by all the familys that deal with alcohol addiction in their homes.  Whiskey Drinker   a short story by Evelyn Creon Like a ship sinking into a stormy sea, an empty bottle fell from his hands hitting the concrete floor with a crash ,  and shattering into a thousand pieces. He sat there half lying, half sitting in  is chair. The chair was using all its strength trying not to buckle beneath my father's weight. He was drunk. The smell of whiskey was strong on his breath. I sighed, a deep long one, trying to hold back tears of aching pain that filled me at the sight of him. Again I had found him lost in drowning everything with a drink. Guilt filled me. I felt like I should have used softer words when I scolded him like a child. It was in times like  those , when my...

When we fear something we like to explore the fear. This poem was inspired by my fear of heights. This poem started out with the first two verses, but when I chose the picture for the post I added two more verses.  Up went I to the highest floor Of some random building  That once was adored.  I there stopped  To catch my breath When I fell out a window  To a brutal death.  I was there for a picture  An' nothing more, When the glass broke  I was lost forever more.  Down I feel like a rock  Landing hard below  On a cement sidewalk.  By Evelyn Creon

Inspired by the idea that somewhere in the world there is somebody that plays their grandpa's old guitar.  I sat there on my bed Pluckin ' away at his guitar.  The only thing I had left From the memory of grandpa. It's a littl' old, beat up, But still it makes pretty chords that the family loves.  He used to teach me Thursday night's How to play it swell. When he died of cancer  I didn't take the death too well. Now I lose myself in memories  Of Thursday night lessons That grandpa gave to me.  By Evelyn Creon

On the way home from a friend's house the other evening this prompt formed in myhead.  I threw my fists against the wall. Anger and frustration consumed me. All the emotion I had been holding back poured out. My head felt like it would explode. Tears slid down my cheeks as I sank to my knees. "Why did he have to die? We were finally getting to living a decent life for the first time in our lives. Why did he have to die from a bloody car accident of all things?" I kept asking myself. I was mad at my mom for leaving us, my dad for dying, and my grand parents for disowning my family.  I was mad at all the guys who teased me at school, the stupid girl across the street who wouldn't leave me alone, and social service last who took me into the foster system. I was angry at everyone and everything in life.

Going through some of my old writing and came across this prompt.  I watched my brother die on the battlefield, fighting for something he believed in.  I never thought or even imagined that my brothers death would bring me anything but pain. Over the past five years I have realized his death has helped me become the man I am today. It taught me how to stand for what I believe in even if my life is on the line. How preserve through difficult times. Most importantly it has helped me turn the wheels of history. Those wheels never turn unless there is bloodshed. Thanks to my brother and all the other soldiers that died in the war I was able to help turn those wheels. Something I could have never done without them. 

She Sat there, tied to a chair; Damaged and confused.  To calm the dark fear of death, She there intuned. "Away with me forever, never too be seen. A whisper and a shadow forever I will be.  No one to say, "I love you." Or,"Are you okay?" No one to say, "hold on now, we'll make it through the day." Only a dark shadow, that crawls across the room. Only a whisper that says, "It will all be over soon." Only dark cold depths; that never pass me by.  Only terrible ice winds; that beat against the sky.  Only me tide up; tight, to die and endless death.  So, this song I will sing until my last dying breath." The song she sang it 'bout thrice; On the fourth she tried,  But her heart ceased to beat.  Then she there did die.  They found her in the morning  Underneath the sky.  Iced over by all the cold, All to horrify.  Nobody knew who she was. Or why she was there.  They only ...