Treasures From the Past

Well, I was sifting through the 300 and something old e-mails in my account, and I came upon some documents I'd sent to myself so that I could print them...about a year or two ago. Many of these were stories I'd lost when my hard drive crashed last year, and I was thrilled to find them again.

This one is a poem I wrote for one of my many started projects...the book was to be entitled "Window Soul," and is the story of a young woman who was born with the ability to travel between the nine planes of existence. At the same time, however, a powerful demon is released from his prison, and the girl proves to be the only one who can track him throughout the planes. Maybe someday I'll finish it, but for now, I'll be content with the poem.

By the way, this was written several years ago, and some of the rhymes are...less than what they could be :). I still like it, and it brings back many memories of the stories I wrote back when I had the time to dedicate hours to their conception. Enjoy :)

Window Soul
By Keziah Roy



When planes align, what evil brings
This rare and wondrous sight?
One child born, one hell released
This dark and evil night.

How grand and terr’ble to behold
When crimson eyes did stare
In mental anguish quite deserved
With molten rock for air.

A painful yet life-bringing night,
A window now is born.
With auburn hair and eyes so green,
She sees through ev’ry door.

Nine planes of life, nine steps of hell
The same for heavens too.
Nine faerie ranks, nine demons cruel
Nine angels keeping good

The chance of all aligning, though,
Nine thousand times to one.
The chance of balance now restored?
Nine thousand times to none.

A Sonnet

I was sitting in Kim Napolitano's AP English class this morning, and was thinking about sonnets. She had her students write them for homework, as they're reading Macbeth. So as I sat listening to the students read aloud, I began to write. This is the fruit of my labors.


Un-Finding God
A Sonnet

This pond'ring mind is wond'ring, What Is God?
A being omniscient, all powerful,
And wondrous, too, is he. Where he hath trod,
Supposedly, bloom flowers sweet and full.
Yet still I'm wond'ring, doth h'exist at all?
He seems quite contradict'ry, 'tis not peace
He wants to bring. 'Tis Love his preachings call,
Yet with fiery swords he threatens, and seeds
Of discord he spreads. Neighbors 'gainst their friends,
And mother 'gainst child pits he. Sayest he,
"Me thou canst follow, lest thou hateth i'the end."
This seems quite awful and vicious to me,
And now my belief I find firm, secure.
In denouncing this 'god,' I've found my cure.



I'd like to point out briefly that sonnets are not my forte, as I'm sure you can tell. Also, as far as syllabic structure goes, each line is in iambic pentameter (10 syllables). One must read the words with apostrophes as having one less syllable, seeing as how the vowel is removed. Also, several words are slurred together so as to make them one syllable. And if there are those who think this is cheating, I learned the technique from the greatest of all--William Shakespeare. :)