Original:
The fog was full-bodied and the only colour it had was around the orbs that gave it colour. It wasn't green but if felt green – a sort of emerald that was largely the only colour that happened before I was born. And I could make out the shapes of tombs and five to twelve foot spires, and the smell was of flowers. The orbs lined the road and they continued off through the cloud, and as I moved along they never failed to have appeared without my taking note of the moment they did so. The bases of trees were visible near the grassy ground, but their canopies were unseen unless they lowered down near the light-giving spheres, and they were made to look like they were a concrete, flowering growth of the fog itself.
There were no people at all, but somewhere, if I continued to go along one of the walking roads that were paved, there was to be a party partially outside and partially inside that was to have people giving each other flowers and wines filled with flower petals and playing music together looking at each other contently.
Poem:
The fog was full-bodied
The only colour it had
Was around the orbs.
It wasn't green but if felt green;
An emerald that was the only colour
That happened before I was born.
I could make out the shapes of tombs
And five to twelve foot spires,
The smell was of flowers.
The orbs lined the road
And they continued off through the cloud.
As I moved along
They never failed to appear
Without my taking note of the moment they did so.
The bases of trees were visible near the grassy ground,
But their canopies were unseen
Unless they lowered down near the light-giving spheres.
They were made to look like they were a concrete,
flowering growth of the fog itself.
There were no people at all,
but somewhere,
there was to be a party;
partially outside and partially inside.
It was to have people giving each other flowers and wines,
Filled with flower petals and playing music together
Looking at each other contently.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This found poem was created by finding a piece of descriptive writing and turning it into a poem. The words belong to the author, but I used the author's words to create a poem.
Sorry haven't updated at all today! I had quite the stressful day and haven't had time to upload until now!
May your writing, or reading, be as marvellous as you are!
-Emily
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The Beginning of it All
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