Do you feel the changing breeze?
Do you see the golden leaves?
Can you hear the melody
Of the skylark, as it sings?
Wind is blowing,
Trees are swaying,
Skylark’s song is always shifting!
Sun is setting,
Clouds are raining,
Come with me and go skylarking!
Do you sense the summer’s flee?
From the curse have you been freed?
Have you heard the beckoning
Of God’s voice gently speak?
Years are passing,
Skylark’s song is always aging!
Time is wasting,
Blind to Christ they are rejecting!
Is there hope in anything?
Will ground stay beneath my feet?
Sings the skylark in the tree,
“What is life without meaning?”
Hope is failing,
Ground is shaking,
Skylark’s song is quickly waning!
Stubborn pride, again denying!
Now it’s quiet, dark, and night.
The skylark’s song is cold.
A single Light shines out so bright;
Piercing the heart and soul.
The shaking stopped,
The noise abrupt,
As onto the Rock I stepped.
My heartbeat stills,
The fight is naught,
As Christ, my heart, indwells.
A beast o’ green with yellow crown
O’ertakes the landscape all around.
Mowing men and women down
With claws set deeply underground.
No fearless Knight doth dare confound
The countless creatures’ battleground.
Can ya hear that mournful sound
O’ cries o’ fear from dusk to dawn?
Lovers o’ the fallen ones’
Vengeful tears cry out for war!
Picks and pikes, shovels and swords,
Off to snuff the most awful o’ hoards.
Ripping and tearing the mighty cords
O’ the beasts’ behemoth legs and claws,
Until, at last, the growls and roars
Are ne’er but heard in tales of lore.
All winter long.
Is my birthday;
Dance and sing
To woodwind’s play.
Bright and free,
In sunlight’s gleam;
Dressed with glee
In emerald green.
Try and see,
If you do please;
Chance a guess
Of my ID.
Over white mountains,
And through motly gray.
Under the starlight
Of deep outer space.
There, I hear a whispering voice;
My spine chilled by a touch, too moist.
Dream of the younger;
Longing of elders;
Age doesn’t matter,
Thus it’s called never.
To reach out and find what you seek,
Requires, in mind, a smile and wink.
Well my spring break did not go exactly as planned, but things rarely do. I will do my best to throw a few riddles up, but things are mentally slow at the moment. Anyways, here’s a riddle to guess if you can!
Two in front, two beside,
Two connect right behind.
Snakes that wrap around real tight:
Two without a viper bite.
So gentle and loving,
Amazing and sublime;
Snakes of antiquity:
Benevolent and kind.
Venom of an odd, odd type;
Difficult, even, to describe.
As if one’s heart was jumping inside,
After saying, “hello” or bidding, “goodbye.”
No, I haven’t died or anything. I’ve simply been focusing my energies on school, which requires an immense amount of energy. Spring break is coming, and I will do my best to catch up on riddles. Besides that, I figured I needed to post something. I was digging around some of my old poetry and found this treasure! It’s one of the first poems I ever wrote, I hope you enjoy it:
Wind howled through the trees;
tearing, biting, breaking me.
Storms of pain and suffering
Left a wasteland lost in grief.
As the storm began to settle;
Slowly, gently, little by little;
The gears stopped their grinding metal;
Silence came with gentle rebuttal.
Falling slowly from the sky,
Stars that twinkled in twilight
Covered the sorrowful, ugly sights;
Point by point they covered my life.
Not all at once, so suddenly,
Was the wreckage covered quickly;
But steadily, gracefully, gradually,
The snowflakes hid all misery.
Every speck of hope from above
Was sent to cover the ugly muck.
I say a prayer of thanks to God
For the snow I love so much.
My lucky number 13 (no, I’m not superstitious)! Anyways! Creating riddles is a lot tougher than you might think. The more I wrote, the more I find this to be true. Finding an object or subject that inspires you to write a riddle about it is usually the hardest part. I found another one here and I’m hoping it isn’t redundant (I just can’t remember if I’ve written about it before). Well, here it goes!
An oak and a willow were planted close together.
Each sprouted and grew in the heat of summer.
The oak stood taller, the willow rooted deeper;
Both were content while they were next together.
Then came the storm with all its windy weather,
Pushing the two trees, bending them further.
The oak cried out as his trunk began to splinter,
But the willow held the oak without any faulter.
The two can still be seen just about anywhere.
Even in trying times, they stand without a waver.
If I am the oak, then who are you, there?
Don’t think too hard, it’s not all that clever.