Friday, June 27, 2014

"My Young Sorcerer"

I had a creative writing course I took for college a while ago, and a few of the lessons dealt with poetry. It was the first time I really wrote any poetry. It was an interesting experience, and I thought I'd share a free verse poem I did for one of the assignments. Enjoy! :)

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Image courtesy of Pinterest.

"My Young Sorcerer"

Angels are bowling above as the cloud-heavy sky cries.
Every impact with the floor lights up the sky,
every strike rumbles through the air.
They're very good at playing, so there's always a strike.

But that bothers me little. I am little affected by their games,
by the tears.
I sit by the cheerful glow of flame, wrapped in a cozy quilt
on the comfortable sofa.

On the side table a fat and steaming mug of
chocolate, hot off the stove.
A plate with thick squares of brownies sits nearby too.
To complete the scene, I pull a book from within the folds of the

Its paperback spine is already well worn,
so it's quite easy to tell it is a favorite.
The bookmark is a green silk ribbon found at the
train station.
I open my book to the twelfth chapter, where I left

the young sorcery apprentice to his fate,
to escape the danger alone.
I join him now. He is still there. He always was.
Books never go anywhere with their story without you.
They stay, even if you leave.

The characters don't feel abandoned. They don't mind.
If anything they probably feel relieved.
The warrior doesn't die just yet, or
the queen doesn't have to flee her home until later.

Because you're their companion. They wait for you
to come back, and then their tales will pull you in
and you become part of the story, you slip into their lives
and their thoughts are now yours. Their deeds are understood by you
and not anyone else.

They take you on wild adventures, and you don't have much time to
collect yourself before you're pulled in. Take a deep breath,
because you may need it later.

That's how it goes when you read.
It's an occupational hazard.

My sorcerer now faces his worst fears
in the image of a beast with wings and two heads.
It is as black as a raven, eyes as sharp as
a serpent's, and teeth like a lion's.

My young sorcerer is weak compared to this monstrous
creature of nightmares. He is already wounded from
the barmaid who betrayed him,
but I know him. He won't run.

Instead, he fights. The monster snaps at him,
determined to eliminate this puny threat.

The fight is fierce: my sorcerer's magic flashes against the icy
blaze of the beast as his wound and his magic drains him,
but he will not quit. I know.

There is silence. The enemy holds still, my sorcerer
remains hidden underneath it.
Slowly, so slowly, he reaches for his previously abandoned
dagger, quieting his exhausted breaths.

He strikes.

The monster roars something terrible.
The cave shudders.
My sorcerer runs for the quickly closing exit.

I jump in surprise at the sound of the telephone,
I realize I had been holding my breath
and exhale slowly. I return the ribbon to its place and
leave my half-eaten brownies to answer it.

My sorcerer will wait for me.
He always does.


  1. :o I lahv it so muchlyyyy o.o

    1. Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it. ^_^


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