www.whyville.net Nov 27, 2005 Weekly Issue



kittypet
Whyville Poet

The Fire and the Shooting Star

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FRONT PAGE
CREATIVE WRITING
SCIENCE
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POLITICS
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PANDEMIC
Last night, I had a dream.
Nothing was as it seemed.
I was in a castle, running down a hall,
When suddenly, a trap-door emerged from the wall.
I looked inside, I listened too.
The walls were green; the floor was blue.
Inside the room, there was another door.
A door I'd never seen before.
I went into the next room, and in there
A fire flickered, and sparks flared.
There was no ceiling, no bats to fly.
The flames swirled into the night sky.
The stars above me danced in the purple haze.
But that was not what held my gaze.
'Twas a shooting star soaring across the moonlit night
Like a white morning dove taking flight.
An incredible feeling swept over me
As I looked up happily.
I looked around at this world of creation
And it all came from my imagination.
But then, everything dissappeared.
Nothing could I see, nothing could I hear.
For a minute I felt as if I was being swallowed by the dark,
Like a shipwrecked sailor being eaten by a shark.
Then, suddenly the darkness was gone.
I was guessing it was dawn.
A distant voice began to sing,
But then I heard a piercing ring.
I awoke to my alarm clock (it hurt my head).
Then I got up out of bed.
I thought my dream was pretty cool,
But now it was time to go to school.

 

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