Jen's Blog

Lightning strikes a symbol cloud. Suddenly everything we've ever known as truth falls to the ground. It seeps in and slowly begins to regenerate fresh ideas. Such things has only the immortal Redwood seen time after time after time after time after time after time -Jen Meharg '06

Monday, November 07, 2005

This poem was inspired by my father's poem I had on my last post.

The yellow man walks on the lawn
The yellow cock has crew
The yellow clock stopped ticking when
The yellow grass done grew

Yellow is the color of
The sky when rain does fall
Flowers line the driveway bright
Yellow are them all

The yellow house up on the hill
It's doors are open wide
The yellow woman lying still
No longer will she hide

Secrets of the man she loved
His past cold terrors found
The lies, the murder, the espionage
Now only Earth will mound

Her yellow frown is painted red
To hide away her sadness
The fear, the anger, and the dread
She leaves behind his madness

Alone in death, she lays so still
His back to her he turns
He took away her life at will
Ne'er eyes from tears did burn

The air is chilled when footsteps heavy
On the floor do sound
Alone in house he is, he thinks
No living person found

A silent shadow befalls the floor
His mind a touch regret
But as cold breeze blows through the door
A laugh out loud he let

The searing pain in chest he feels
Her reach through flesh and bone
Gripping heart that beats in terror
Her angry eyes now shown

'You bastard all I wanted was
Your children and a life
A house of warmth and happiness
To only be your wife

You took from me my youth and beauty
Replacing them with fear
Now I've come to take the heart
I wanted all these years'

She pulls and leaves an epmty space
Where wicked heart did beat
The body falls upon the floor
A wicked heartless heap

The yellow sun warms the sky
With brightness never known
To living eyes of yellow woman
In death sh has her home

The husband she so long desired
His body rank decayed
But spirit wanders through her halls
Her orders he obeys

Yellow house upon the hill
Grey from time neglect
Once yellow flowers lined the drive
Now dead and brown reflect