Gliding through the night as a bird in the day, I feel the warmth of the
evening sun on my back. It is warming to know I have feeling, to feel
the warmth lets me know I am alive, and that which is inside is able to
spring forth into the shadows of the night. Long have I searched for
this warmth, it is not known when I began this search, yet until
recently the feeling has always been cold.

Cold as the ice of the capes. Cold as the frost in the morning dew. A
cold unknown to mortal men, it envelopes every part of the soul, never
releasing its hold. Memories of the days gone by are still searing
through the veil of cold darkness. Smells of the past are given light by
the pains one sees, yet has never known. Sights of the cries heard in
the night, hearing them in this very soul.

Calmly gliding through the warmth I begin to understand what a mortal
man feels after a long day in the sun. The heat is soothing to the soul,
knowing that soon it will be cold again. Wishing the warmth would be
everlasting, never to leave my soul again. Gliding slowly to the crest
of the sunset the heat is becoming more intoxicating. Filling me with
something long ago forgotten. Desire, the desire to feel this in every
way possible, turning to look to the west my eyes burn with anticipation
of the heat. The heat is my desire, to feel it throughout my soul, to my
very core.

My soul is alive with the heat as I glide to my destination, to the cold
stone of my youth. Slowly I land beneath the tree of my fathers and come
to a stop. Basking in this warmth, savoring it for another millennia,
till I am able to take this chance again.

Turning once again back to the sun as it peeks over the horizon to catch
one final feeling of warmth, warmth that must hold in my memories.
Slowly opening the stone door, entering the tomb of my ancestors, seeing
the bed of my desolation, climbing to my place of reality, once again I
lie down in the stone that keeps the sun from me. Closing the lid I gasp
one final breath of warmth, ever cursing the thing I have become.

Cursed!!!

WOW G!!! A totally different style for you..I like it!!

{{{{ G }}}}}

Very nice

Thank you all for reading, I think it's time to break out of the mold
and begin a new age of writing. I ask myself how many poems can one
person write in prose and rhyme before he runs out of stanzas? LOL



G

very nice

This is a pretty new style and I like it

To be honest I wouldn't be able write something with rhymes, I would
always find it hard to find the fitting words and digging
in the dictionary for hours would take away from the spirit as it is a
passing feeling mostly, and I would never feel the same again.

Whoa!!! Totally different Gryphyn. Real good read. Bravo.

Absolutely love it!!!!
and G...



breathlessly waiting for more!

good story but as your last remark how many not sure but I HAVE AROUND
300 TO 350 POEMS THAT I wrote the last few years.