A very, very short poem to all of you hoping for a new post:

Busy though I be:
I forget not thee!

New post coming soon. :)

"Opportunity" [by Edward Rowland Sill] Rewrite

There is a great battle in the desolate midst of the Desert of Doom. The two mighty nations arrange themselves for battle, with teeth gritted, eyes squinting in the brightness and the hatred. The ruthless sun glares down on the glittering metal that covers the soldier’s bodies. And then there is the mindless slashing, slicing, and stabbing of the two nations as they kick up a sand cloud that is seen for miles round in the Land of Doom. I am the sword that a soldier splintered and threw down. I lay broken in the sandy dust as the battle raged around me, now silently I watch the blood spray, the swords ring, and the lives severed. My slivers lay sparkling about me in the midst of the chaos. My eyes grow dark and my limbs grow cold. Never more would a soldier grasp my solid hilt again, never more would I dance in the sun, cutting short the lives of mortal men, never more would I be placed quietly to rest after a long day’s slaughter in my sheath of soft leather. Now I lay in naught but death’s numb embrace, and the sanguine sands in the Land of Doom. But then I feel a strong hand reach for me. I throw open my eyes and behold the glorious face of the king’s son. He regards me with a solemn eye, and then a smile leaps to his lips. He lifts my shattered form high above his head, giving a rousing battle-cry! Ah, the warriors fall like stalks of grass before the might of the prince that day, he rouses his men, and routes the enemy, sending them fleeing off into the very withering heart of the Land of Doom.

Edgar Allen Poe- The Bells (and comments)

Edgar Allen Poe- The Bells.


I

Hear the sledges with the bells -
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.


II

Hear the mellow wedding bells -
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight! -
From the molten - golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle - dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! - how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!


III

Hear the loud alarum bells -
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now - now to sit, or never,
By the side of the pale - faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear, it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells -
Of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
In the clamor and the clanging of the bells!


IV

Hear the tolling of the bells -
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people - ah, the people -
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone -
They are neither man nor woman -
They are neither brute nor human -
They are Ghouls: -
And their king it is who tolls: -
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells: -
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells: -
To the sobbing of the bells: -
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells -
To the tolling of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells, -
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 


Poe is a really talented writer, and he so good at grabbing a readers attention. Throughout this poem one feels as though he can actually here the bells spoken of. The only problem that I have with this poem (and most of Poe's writing) is the fact that the whole poem moves from joy to a deeper joy, to anger to despair. The world doesn't end in despair. That's not the way that God works. This is why I prefer to read the whole thing backwards, ending in joy.  :)