4chan archive /lit/ (index)
2013-08-06 12:50 4003451 Anonymous (Aw heck.png 500x328 35kB)
an you lovely people critique my poem? It's my first one and I don't want bad habits for my future poems. Carrion feather on bloody heather A cascade of blades forged in a nostalgic age Now tempered in our melancholy, Used now to strike at those who would get too close Lapsing mindfulness taken for granted And centrifuged at dusk's magic hour To our mind and soul's perception Of time keeping records of our words, engraved to steel. Waking moments and narcotic strolls to a place inside our head Caged with the key broken, and a canvassed pendant left in its stead: Forgiveness is there, as it should be And the intention itself remains stolid. Quiet contemplation of what it means to be Can we find the oak again, or has it burned? Or have our dreams imprisoned me? I'm nailed to a cross; the ground barely brushes my feet Aural comprehension of the words we say Miscommunicated; hurtful silences filled byhate Leaving me inebriated and hallucinating Of my mind's sewer tunnel light heading to a bridge. Eighteen years running; trying to keep steady In this sterile Hospice, where each step took was the death of light Immersed in darkness-the bottom of the whiskey jar: sickly and heady Analogous to my love for you, poisonous hope was seeded Sweet, sickly, and very much needed.

6 min later 4003474 Anonymous
Rewrite it.

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