The prompt of the 8th day of NaPoWriMo is making something called Ottava Rima in iambic pentameter, that is a completely new set of words for me and I have tried figure it  out by reading Lord Byron and Shakespeare who seemed to like writing in this way.

 

I open the window to get some Fresh Air
’cause the air in this room is worn out and old
I sense all possibilities fresh out there
don’t even notice that the wind is so cold
I wish I could fly right out from here
liberated in doing something so bold
seeking, finding, completing my whole Life
but should be content, not stabbed by a knife

I look up the roof of that tall building
I long to touch the stones and texture
like Spiderman, Catwoman, fearless climbing
like Vampire’s nostrils in the air find the lure
so the open window rouses my being
I desire wind under my wings for my cure
and fearlessly combat the wind in my face
in any unthread and far away place

If I’m on my way to fly over oceans
hearing roaring noises around and below
finding new countries, mountains and valleys
learn about people and places to grow
are we humans the oddest of the species?
More questions than answers, how will we know?
but now is clearly not the right time to flee
when it is, will I still be me?

Waw! That was hard work! Now I admire Shakespeare and Lord Byron even more!

Lotta

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