Tag Archives: creativewriting

Come si dice…Peace?

I wish I could explain to her,
Why there’s so many wars, and peace is hard to find.
I’m ashamed to say I’m only 21
and I live a better life, than the majority of the world.
Hatred, shame, brutality, at the moment rule the earth.
I tell her peace will return, but I’m not sure if that’s wishful of me to think,
and I feel like such a hypocrite, explaining humanity’s suffering from a distance, out the thick of it, like I really understand how people out there live,
whilst sitting in my house, with running water made of brick.

Come si dice…Peace? – Elena Andrean 4/8/2014

Fools Gold

Sifting through the waters to find one,
A little stone, or a rare diamond
And suddenly you see one when the waves pull away
Not particularly bold or shiny,
But you take a shine to it.
When you look closer it’s edges are roughly outlined
and it’s not at all what you had in mind,
But it fits in your pocket.
A little stone, or a rare diamond
Washed up in what the waves left behind
A gem you expected to be the colours of Gold,
But instead, is slightly Green in hue
And slowly but surely it reminds you,
Of someone you knew

Fools Gold – 21/10/2014 Elena Andrean

The Letter

The Letter

I. Martedi

Perhaps if I had chosen differently that Tuesday,
you would have chosen differently that Tuesday.

I keep dreaming about you touching my legs
on the train that night in December.

But I always wake and remember that you sit behind bars.
Now what chance do we stand.

Although I’m sure If I had let myself,
I would have learnt to bend over them backwards to get to you.

 

II. Mercoledi

It’s my simple thing,
remembering you in days.
The ones you were there, and the ones you were not.

Thursdays you would take off for me
and Fridays, after work
we would find a spot to go swimming at the beach,
drive home after midnight still wet in your car.

So you leaving mid-week, like you did
screwed with me like jet lag.
I wish you had waited until Sunday to get caught.

 

III. Giovedì

That’s when I picked up my pen to write.
Not about you at first, to you.

Everyone has a purpose. I felt like mine was to make you feel.
Everything everyone is too scared to.

And so I wrote from the heart.
I was scared too, least of all angry, just sad, because it was to you.

 

IV. Venerdì

Once I started I couldn’t stop.
I wrote from dark until light.

Stamp stuck and purpose filled. Self expression-ed out.
I felt everything I knew it would make you feel.

Freedom under the moonlight.

I sprinted to catch the 9am post. That letter had run me out.

But I was lighter on my feet, and mind.
Friday changed my life.