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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