Konnichiwa! Welcome to AnnaTude! I'm Anna Bright (blogger today, best-selling author tomorrow). This blog is where I publish my work. Read on!

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Envy in the Sixteenth Century

A Two-Part Prose Poem, inspired by the tale of Queen Elizabeth I
 My pain.
 It hurts, almost like the green monster has
 Plunged a knife into my
 Infallible, innocent, ingenuous
 The heart that has felt pain, yes,
 But not like this.
 My pain.
 It is almost physical,
 As I feel my heart's beat
 Loud and falling, like failure.
 Hurting when it sees
 What could have been.
 My sorrow
 My envy
 My hatred
 It tears away at my soul
 Blackening it
 Burning it
 Reducing it to ashes
 Every time I see
 My sister.
 My pain.
 Upon seeing her, it increases
 Rupturing my body, my wounded, scarred body
 Crumpling my heart
 Tossing it in the fire.
 My envy.
 It relishes my emotions,
 Eating away until I am numb.
 Trying to figure out where I stand
 Now that all is lost
 And my very being is forsaken.
 My pain.
 My enemy.
 My bitter, sadistic foe.
 I know I don't have it
 But I know she doesn't deserve it
 She would lie, and cheat, and cry
 And still-still!- they would love her.
 Others would offer their hand
 Which she would take Break
 Until they bled, destroyed
 Having completed her every order
 What would they receive?
 Not a thing.
 Not a thing.
 Not a single, filthy penny.
 And still they bask in her glory
 Melt in pools of awe before her
 While I remain, wounded,
 The only one who could clearly see her true colors
 The only one who dared challenge
 Her ugly ways.
 Who is the villain?
 You are, she would say.
 Showing everyone she is better
 Exposing me as the evil
 (Which I am, I know
 Or have become whilst drowning in hatred)
 But I know hers is greater
 Can I still rise above?
 I can!
 I will!
 I will show her I am stronger
 The prize she seeks shall soon be mine,
 For I shall hate no longer
 Instead becoming nothing less
 Than the sweetest damsel that ever lived.
 In my glory I will destroy her
 Exposing her by being what she is not,
 For it does no good to hate
 Except adding fuel to the fire.
 The flame that will be
 My legacy
 Breaking her, as she has done me.
 And together, we will go down in history
 As the queens, the sisters who would always be
 Bitter enemies.
 Once the scars of my pain heal,
 And my heart beats steadily once again,
 And my soul repairs itself,
 Justice, in all our evil, shall prevail.

Ode to My Passion for Poetry

Oh, how you sway me!
Your words like a dance
With ease and flow and rhythm
Oh, rhythm!
The way you remain in my head
Even after I take my eyes
Off the page
The leaps and twirls of your words
That make you so memorable,
I wish you were my own.
And then, my mind fills with doubt
My eyes begin to search out
The name of your creator 
The artist
The one that spun 
Your rhythmic, rhyming
Into the cloth of silk that is you,
The poem.


Is like
Floating on your back
In a tide pool
On a sunny day in summer
Is like plunging into
The icy depths of the sea
Gasping and struggling
To get out.
is a wave
From crest to trough
Until it finally crashes
Striking the shores
Seeping into the sand
And back into that great big ocean
And Again