O’er the landscape, cast your eyes.
Behold a beauty that never dies
it shines beneath the silver sheath
of ashes from which none shall rise.
Can just us two, just me and you,
stand the test of time?
Against the silence, strain thy ear.
Hear the cries from a yonder year…
They sung a song while all along
we tried and tried but could not hear
the golden wheat and pallid sheets
of forests in the snow.
The motley charm of broken street,
the bridge where light and darkness meet.
We set things right, and burn the night,
anything so that we may eat.
Feel all the shame, the guilt, the pain
that makes us who we are.
There’s a song in us, beneath the skin,
through every bone, the choirs begin.
We hum the tune and pray that soon
we will find some words where none have been.
I want to say that I know the way…
but I am searching too.
Cloaked warmly in sanguine sky,
in search of It, onward we fly.
We are the light!
In stalwart flight,
we blaze a path without knowing why…
Go on, I’m fine. I’ll stay behind…
I fear I’ve lost my wings.
They knew my choice, they left me dead.
Not a single goodbye was said…
I’ve little time, only some rhyme
so I write this lament instead…
When next you see a willow tree
promise that you’ll remember me.
Pretty words pasted into wax or the kind you’d hear from Veil once or twice. Though it’s not as eloquent as you’d might think, just makes you feel dour cause of the tone involved. Like all those poems they all mention once or twice about love, you know the kind. You’re just passing through the dens, minding your business when out of the blue some bloke is waxing some garbage about "an ebony beauty" and you got yourself finking maybe the pile of drivel will end. But it keeps going on this right muddy slope of garbage about pinning over nothing. Makes me right sick, it does.
At least here it’s structured to be a tale and not some weepy loser trying to get a dime for 'is work. Whole thing is a reflection on love and loss so there’s something to it.
[quote=Amelia Syrus]Pretty words pasted into wax or the kind you’d hear from Veil once or twice. Though it’s not as eloquent as you’d might think, just makes you feel dour cause of the tone involved. Like all those poems they all mention once or twice about love, you know the kind. You’re just passing through the dens, minding your business when out of the blue some bloke is waxing some garbage about "an ebony beauty" and you got yourself finking maybe the pile of drivel will end. But it keeps going on this right muddy slope of garbage about pinning over nothing. Makes me right sick, it does.
At least here it’s structured to be a tale and not some weepy loser trying to get a dime for 'is work. Whole thing is a reflection on love and loss so there’s something to it.[/quote]
Well I never. HERE you would think a woman would love poetry but you can see PLAINLY THUS that this woman knows nothing of rhyme and writing and THEREFORE her words about your work are unusable as a critique.
IF, my fellow poet, you wish to convey that you are dying you may want to spend an evening with this woman here. Not even that, perhaps for she might be the one to do you in. Furthermore, if you are dying as you say, there is no way for you to string such a frothing amount of words about the dreariness of the Neath and convey some sort of message to the lover that may or may not even want to hear your saccharine words. CONTINUING MY ACTUALLY HELPFUL CRITIQUE, I would say that your rhyming scheme is rather odd and throws me off in reading your stanzas. You have words put into your meter which serves no rhyming purpose with the rest of the scheme nor connects with the previous rhymes in the poem itself which leaves me to wonder if you were intending to be disjointed to reflect the fact that you are in fact dying when penning this work. I’m not sure if even someone like me would waste their last tender seconds relaying pretty words since usually all that gets me is a KNIFE THROWN AT MY HEAD, AMELIA.
… Over all, excellent work. Perhaps study your rhyming technique. edited by H. Forbes on 5/3/2016
Oh right cause clearly all I’ve ever known was how to use my own fists and I don’t know a lick outside of the University, right? Ya sure. Just gonna look down on ol’ Amelia as she reads from great works or gets snippets of news. That’s just too plebeian for your taste. Forgetting completely that we all don’ need a lick of science to get by. Blimey… that’s always what you’ve been about.
That is some rather wrong slander there. Just cause some bloke has a tongue and uses it doesn’t mean he’s got a lick of your rotting brain behind it. At least I can appreciate the amount of effort put here from the prose. Where there’s clearly some convey of emotions behind it, unlike someone that just babbles off things at the top o’ his head like it’s going out of fashion in the Neath. Stanza and prose are flimsy sure but at least there’s something behind it that grabs your attention. Unlike you that just literally came 'round cause you feel like defending ya right sorry behind.
You’re such a right pile of garbage. Can you even begin to understand love? ‘Ere is someone who clearly experienced loss, conveying it ina way they get. Not some passin’ glance of a stranger you pine after and assume they a free bird just waitin’ ta get snatched up easily. **** off.
Why would I even waste a good knife on you? Could be usin’ it for a thousand things than a wine that even the dogs wouldn’t lap. edited by Amelia Syrus on 5/3/2016
I’m surprised everyone immediately assumed that this was about love. It isn’t really, although that might play some small part of it. Of course, The Author is, figuratively, Dead. So interpretations matter more than whatever I intended.
Apparently, according to the AUTHOR, this wasn’t even ABOUT LOVE and you interpreted it wrong because YOU are holding onto a person that YOU are still in """""LOVE"""""" with and are forcing your view UPON THE POEM.
Truly a woman who knows how to use her words.
[quote=Amelia Syrus] Why would I even waste a good knife on you? Could be usin’ it for a thousand things than a wine that even the dogs wouldn’t lap. edited by Amelia Syrus on 5/3/2016[/quote]
LITERALLY KNIFE MARKS IN MY BEDROOM.
Blimey, ‘ere it is I’m tryin ta ‘preciate the arts and you have to come swoopin’ in like a bat rushing straight out o’ hell. To do what? Clean your name. You got nothin’ clean to call your own, sweetie. I should know since I’ve been savin’ your behind countless times with that non-sense. You wanna hold my head under than I’m takin’ you with me, ya cherish pile of drivel.
AND ‘NOTHER FINK. Those knife marks was cause ya had the gall to fink you could get an ounce of flirtin’ near me. Those are reminders not to even attempt it again and I want ya to fink about it every time you see every mark on ta walls.
OH LIKE YOU WEREN’T DOIN’ TA SAME BLOODY FINK TOO. YOU’RE FULL O’ SUCH GARBAGE. YOU WANT TA KISS MY FISTS CAUSE YOU SURE ARE ASKIN’ FOR IT.