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certain horror
I stagger the grinding gears
of this inhuman ordeal,
a knife prodding the bits of flesh,
blood searching for permanent warmth,
blood searching for more blood. The
weak-willed trance has left me stuttering,
choked,
groping for the poesy.
My soul trudges beneath congestion, while
hands pull for a cleaner snow.
They reach for anything original,
yearning to strangle the listless currents.
Fought my way through for this;
a store-bought rose for the muted spirit,
a firm squeeze in the shadows of banality.
Have I become that to which I rebelled?
Have I become the animated death?
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Comment by: Salo - 2007-05-06 02:51
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| Hulshizer is the best critique writer on the face of the planet. But other than that, I liked this a lot - it portrayed the chaos and contradiction throughout. |
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Comment by: Scribe - 2007-05-05 10:17
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A palpable struggle here. Terrific use of metaphor. Beautifully cryptic. I particularly liked, ??blood searching for permanent warmth,
blood searching for more blood.? Very strong work. |
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| Thanks Diane, I agree w/you on the omition of at/the. As far the blood goes, the repetition is supposed to lend soem depth to it...i'll have to work that one out later maybe. |
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Comment by: dkm - 2007-05-05 07:11
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Strong images. I really enjoyed reading this.
I have some suggestions with regards to line breaks, and some stuff I've put in brackets: (this is only based on what I would do if the poem were mine)
I stagger the grinding
gears of this inhuman ordeal,
a knife prodding at the bits (omit at/the?, is 'bits' strong enough?)
of flesh, blood searching for more blood, (omit blood? plays into next use of blood)
blood searching for permanent warmth.
The week-willed trance has left me
stuttering, choked, groping
for the poesy. |
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This is such a cool poem. The opening two lines were great and this was too: They reach for anything original,
yearning to strangle the listless currents.
Nice piece of writing, I feel like you dumped a paint can of images inside my head.
john |
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