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    dots Submission Name: My Key, Forlorndots

    Author: ChrystalR
    ASL Info:    23/Female/Norway
    Elite Ratio:    5.14 - 126/121/58
    Words: 84
    Class/Type: Poetry/Longing
    Total Views: 883
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 493


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    dotsMy Key, Forlorndots

    My Key, Forlorn
    .. ... ..

    I have lost the key to my heart.

    Perhaps it dances
    With the lost stanzas
    Of this poem?

    Has it followed
    The perfect rhythm and rhymes
    I did mislay?

    Or does it cry
    With the metaphor
    I never found?

    I ask thee gently
    If you don’t mind

    Could someone open me,

    Submitted on 2006-09-13 07:39:44     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I like this poem. The structure of the peice is very unique to me, being the first time I've ever encountered this format. It's pretty looking and simple.

    The wording and such are pretty mysterious so interpretations can vary highly. My personal thought though, is that you meant for this to me... about your poetry. I have had to deal with being unable to write too and this poem reminds me so much of those times. I knew I was feeling something but I couldn't ink it into words you know? So I thought maybe you had the same case and that's what led you to write this?

    No matter the reason, this is a great read.

    Aken Sol
    | Posted on 2006-11-28 00:00:00 | by Aken Sol | [ Reply to This ]
          You're lucky. My heart's in a small steel box, all sides smooth and vacant of any keyhole. There ain't anything getting to my heart but at least I know where I put it.
          The lines have equal syllables (4,5,4). It's almost a haiku compilation poem (3,5,3 or 5,7,5).
          This poem works for me on a few levels: One, it seems fanciful and laid back, sort of lazy yet thoughtful and a little bit playful. Two, you're looking for a key – forlorn – and I am very convinced that I do all my best writing when I am utterly depressed. I call it a 'good kind of depressed.' I actually see little point in being happy. Wistful, sure. Carefree, yes. But not overly happy.

              Could someone open me,

          Story of my life. Nobody understands me and I often go overlooked. In one way, nobody can touch me – I'm on a plane all my own – but the loneliness can get out of hand sometimes; after all I need somebody to relate to once in a while or what's the point in doing what I do? Whatever. Genius is often times unnoticed until the person is dead...then they become 'before their time.' So maybe in another life you'll find all your metaphors that no longer weep but sing, and your missing stanzas neatly piled or filed like tiny flat animals in metal coffins.

    | Posted on 2006-09-13 00:00:00 | by rouge wave | [ Reply to This ]

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