100 Poems Challenge

When the flute plays her silky interlude, the tunes of regret and longing let my gloomy spirit rise in the faint, dim candlelight. The tunes of regret and longing wandering around the room in the faint, dim candlelight gently pull at my tangled heart. Wandering around the room, melodies weeping in sorrow that gently pull at my tangled heart, flow in dark ribbons. Melodies weeping in sorrow that guide me into the fog, flow in dark ribbons and misty shades of blue. Guide me into the fog when the flute plays her silky interlude, and misty shades of blue let my gloomy spirit rise.

  The brick house stands in the morning air, her figure dwarfed by the rising mountains who are illuminated in the rays of sunlight that fall upon us as we peer through the blue gate, watching the wind sweep across the grass, over the silent ripples of the lake. The old kayak leans against the shore of the lake, the black dog leaps through the air towards it, running in the thread-like grass, the only sign of life in the foreground of towering mountains. We open the gate surrounded in warm light and waves of light winds that carry summer leaves up across the lake, flying into the weathered gate, leaving us in a garden of open air facing the high, fearless mountains, as we stand in the swaying grass. When we return to the brick house along the grass, the sun has dimmed her shining light, the brilliance of the mountains has transformed into a simple landscape, the lake has been painted shades of orange, and the dense air pulls the afternoon light out the gate. Night floods in...

  Black and white tiles, spiraling on the wavy grounds,  leading up the old structures  where they transform into the blue, flowered façades, twinkling in the sunlight above the quiet sea. The crowds gathering in the Praça do Comércio, the people glancing up at the Coluna de D. Pedro IV, trying to decide if it is really Pedro (or is it Maximilian), or those who walk the same streets everyday, the beauty of the mosaics never failing to dazzle them - are all sprinkled in the town's magic charm. Where the sun’s rays fall upon the hills and rooftops, on the classic yellow trams whizzing through the narrow roads. The sweet scent of the pastel de nata fills the air, warm and ready to be served to whoever passes by, the smell of raw sardines or grilled octopus  being prepared in the kitchens of long alleys. When the sun goes down, we hear the sentimental tunes of fado, as we sit in the candlelit tavern, listening to the sounds of strings and voice combined, flowing into the...

  Tonight the lights flicker on and off as they die away into the the nighttime sky, whose raging flames  have been put out by the child’s endless tears. Tonight we gaze up at sadness’s arrival, which sears through our souls although it is covered by the lifeless gray and blue cloth. Tonight the clock ticks for another hour before it’s death, and crumbles to specks of dust drawn into the sky ending Time himself, who vanishes off to a parallel universe.

  Obsidian the Chilean was  plunged into oblivion, as he fell ten thousand feet met with pressure and heat. Soon he realized he was metamorphosized into a high-grade, foliated metamorphic rock! When he had risen to the surface again, he felt himself crumble into a truly, frightful jumble. He then learned that this was called sediment, as he collected himself into further redevelopment. But once he had solidified, he was again falling under Earth’s surface, helplessly crying, “Please let this be The last time I come to this absolutely atrocious place. What a disgrace!” Only no one could hear him when the conditions got squalid being melted to magma and cooling back to solid. He looked around in surprise knowing he was igneous again, gave a great big sigh and started to cry. But soon enough, Obsidian the Chilean was  plunged into oblivion as he fell ten thousand feet met with pressure and heat…

  The silent woods are watching us, the magic forest’s charm. Life keeps us from the mountain’s rising peak. You stand there motionless, I wait for you, but you’ve long, long forgotten me. The silent woods are watching us. Across the forest, I call to you. But you have already drifted  far away from me.