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Waiting to Cry
My shell like stone
A hardened crust
Yet silence stills
In this sarcophagus
Somewhere the structure
has slipped
For there is chaos
in this crypt
I was buried alive
mummified
I am still waiting
to cry.
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the success of this poem relies on sense of place, atmosphere. I am transcended, briefly, to witness the entombment. Then I leave. It is convincing. The duality of becoming mummified, of hardening, speaks of a callous heart, yet there is the 'still waiting to cry". i think the 'reality' of the poem is what is would be for all mummies...waiting....waiting...waiting.
Though we, the readers, leave the crypt, the mummy, will stay and contemplate.
Solid work.
I have one qualm. Perhaps in line3, to hold the rhyme and complete the thought, perhaps try: "Yet silence steals"--something is always taken away from us at the end. Maybe it can be directed at something that is nothing: silence.
Just a thought.
For the read, thanks.
Spor V. |
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| Great stuff! I felt like I was inside a pyramid. Excellent! |
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| Wonderful penmanship...! |
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| You somehow weave Chaos and Stillness together, like the image-form of the Mandlebrot set. This is a skill I lack and truly admire. |
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Nice work miss indigo-tint-emotionally-frozen mummy girl.
I don't know what it is, but something in the overall rhythm of it all
makes me feel either that there should be a second verse, or four more lines before the last two lines.
{ps... waves his magic healing wand, breaks the spell, frees
her from her half-life hell) |
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