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I Thought It Was A Moonlight Fable

I thought it was a moonlight fable
That flew into my ears in a disguise,
But was a reality I could scarcely bear.

My little sister is gone
Gone, in the way of my father; my mother too,
In the light of the day,

To the land beyond the plains of sight;
The great beyond, tucked away in the depth of unknown;
Far above the shimmer of winter's sun.

She was barely at the earliest of her mornings,
Right at the exuberance pitch!
Yet no more; snatched, snatched away --
With the speed of a lightning of murderous means.

The day swooped down on us like a greedy raptor
Lit by a collage of sky rays
But felt as if much darker than the skin of owl hours.

I had besought the day for a friendly stunt,
In my garment of optimism hoped to cut a better deal,
But got pegged down the hardened soil of sorrows.

I could have vowed it was a moonlight tale,
But in a twinkling the grammar turned on me,
Then my eyes obliquely and emptily gazed to the frozen ground.

It was true: she was scooped off the earth's surface,
Like a tree cut down from aerial glory, and
Like a weightless leave swept down the slopping oblivion.

Oh, how I have despised it;
Hated the gust of wind that ushered it in,
And frowned at the mindless mists from which it drank.

But can any charge be brought against them?
Can it be found scarlet water in their hands?
It is but a myth that death has a helping hand;
It is its own army and army of its own.

Death is unseen yet seen everywhere.
In its appearance souls scream to a freeze,
Tumbling away at the divide of tree and wood.
Here in the hillside of creaking bones.

But where really lies the strength of life
That it bows to even the puff of death?
What contestation it has with death?
In its season of rainbow surge multitudes of laughter,
In its storm springs lineage of foreboding spirit,

Always astride two-headed horse of the great unknown;
It holds no promise, it is no friend to a friend.
Alas, it is a whiff of air to endure but a time,
Conniving as the undulating smiles of the deep.

I shall but not trust, neither shall I not hope,
But leave lamentation to it's own device,
And away sheathe the blades of tears,
Then calmly I will sit

On the mountain of my mind overlooking
The glistening waters of our flowery past,
In which our heads wore feathers of gold,
That lit the air with the sheen of our innocence.

In this mirror I shall see my sister again
In fullness of life and vigor to tread,
Until that day when our embrace shall ever endure.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
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How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
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Comments

ive made a small edit, this is another one of your amazing poems that just rips the heart out upon reading your magnificent lines.
i've left them in brackets so you can see, of course pass them by if you think they are unnecessary

I thought it was a moonlight fable
That flew into my ears in a disguise,
But was a reality I could scarcely bear.
My little sister is gone
Gone in the way of my father; my mother too,
In that midnight of the day, ? ( in the light of the day)?
To the land beyond the plains of sight;
The great beyond, tucked away in the depth of unknown;
Far above the shimmer of winter's sun. (stunning verse)

She was barely at the earliest of her mornings,
Right at the exuberance pitch!
Yet no more; snatched, snatched away --
With the speed of a lightning of murderous means.
The day swooped down on us like a greedy raptor
Lit by a collage of sky rays
But felt as if much darker than the skin of owl hours.
I had besought the day for a friendly stunt,
In my garment of optimism hoped to cut a better deal,
But got pegged down the hardened soil of sorrows.
I could have vowed it was a moonlight tale,
But in a twinkling the grammar turned on me,
Then my eyes obliquely and emptily gazed to the frozen ground.
It was true: she was scooped off the earth's surface,
Like a tree cut down from aerial glory, and
Like a weightless leave swept down the slopping oblivion.
Oh, how I have despised it;
Hated the gust of wind that ushered it in,
And frowned at the mindless mists from which it drank.
But can any charge be brought against them?
Can it be found scarlet water in their hands?
It is but a myth that death has a helping hand;
It is its own army and army of its own.
Death is unseen yet seen everywhere.
In its appearance souls scream to a freeze,
Tumbling away at the divide of tree and wood.
Here in the hillside of creaking bones.
But where really lies the strength of life
That it bows to even the puff of death?
What contestation it has with death?
In its season of rainbow surge multitudes of laughter,
In its storm springs lineage of foreboding spirit,
Always astride two-headed horse of the great unknown;
It holds no promise, it is no friend to a friend.
Alas, it is a whiff of air to endure but a time,
Conniving as the undulating smiles of the deep.
I shall but not trust, neither shall I not hope,
But leave lamentation to its own device,
And away sheathe the blades of tears,
Then calmly I will sit
On the mountain of (my) mind overlooking
The glistening waters of our flowery past,
In which our heads wore feathers of gold,
That lit the air with the sheen of our innocence.
In this mirror I know (I will) see my sister again
In fullness of life and vigor to tread,
Until that day when (we) embrace (once) (more).

Chima, you have the power to make words come to life and this is an exceptional piece, i can only hope its fiction, but i suspect its reality.
take care dear Sir.

Thank you...Teddy

Thank you sir. I appreciate your technical expertise and have taken steps to effect needed changes. Yes, the experience is real, I lost my little sister last week. Thank you once again.

Bathe yourself with poetry and let the world go to pieces.

author comment

I'm actually a lady, but you can call me anything you wish.

My deepest condolence to you, my friend.
I don't have any other words.

Your edit is really good. Take care and keep safe.

Thank you...Teddy

I truly apologize ma'am. And thanks for your condolence.

Bathe yourself with poetry and let the world go to pieces.

author comment

No need to apologize, I've been called much worse than Sir in my life!

Sending my best wishes to you.

Thank you...Teddy

Thanks for your understanding.

Bathe yourself with poetry and let the world go to pieces.

author comment
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