PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There was something oddly prodding about the air surrounding her in the cool evening. it seemed to will her into the opposite direction. Against her better sense she finally succumbed to its gentle prodding and hypnotic whispers. She felt an overwhelming sense of his presence there. She ached for him. The nrw moon filled the horizon over the river.he often spoke of the moon in his letters.  It was as splendid as all the florid words he had afforded in his poetry. She long for him to write one line in her honor to see herself through the filter of his discerning eyes. She probably woulnt be in the highest praise eschelon far from it but he could make even the ugliest beast seem majestically beautiful.  As if. She snapped at herself. But still faded into one of his verses.She caught herself wandering away from reality again.  There was a thing to do and it had to be done. Admonishing herself for even thinking he'd want to write about her even if he could. Nothing but the ghost of him remained. Still she pondered a  ghostly spectre waivering a feather across parchnent dipping itself periodically into the ink. She imagined her name in perfect cursive flourishes. Special care taken in the elegance of each stroke. Again she cauhht herself. But this time the smile refused to leave her eyes and the flourishes had found their way to her cheeks. it was this the door man saw as he raised his left brow and it was this Mr Malestrom saw as she rushed into the great hall...