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Submission Name: untitled dots

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Author:	Tenirsk
ASL Info:	16/F/N/A
Elite Ratio:	4.16 - 4/17/29
Words:	396

Class/Type:	Prose/Love
Total Views:	135
Average Vote:	No vote yet.
Bytes:	2155

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To the truest and deepest friend amid the darkness and light of mind and kin I write. To she who lingers on cliffs and pastures I create. Who shifts and churns, aches and burns; to she I write. This pressure I can feel building is why I write to she. To who will listen and know; understand- lately, I can’t…

To the truest and deepest friend amid darkness of my mind I write. To she who teeters on cliffs I create, with daggers shaped as rocks upon trenches of my mind. It’s deep this worry-

To the truest and deepest friend amid light of my mind I write. To she who skips upon pastures I create, with blades shaped as feathers upon rolling hills of my mind. It’s deep, this hope-

Three weeks, 8 days and Seven months. He’ll find himself in trenches steep with hate and blood of war.

To who will listen and know; understand-lately, I can’t think of…

To the truest and deepest friend amid the light of kin I write. To myself I write, I who lingers on insanity and saneness, breeched by wars of heart while he offs to fight for wars of man. I who shifts and churns, aches and burns; this is why I write. This pressure I can feel cresting, I need someone to listen and know, understand- lately I can’t think of…

I feel…

I’m numb amongst the affection, drowned in him now only to find but sand, course against my skin when I wash upon lands he has already washed away from.

Lately, I can’t think of him never returning..

To the truest and deepest friend curled in the darkness of my mind- Even if you return, with blood on your hands, will you hold my hand the same? But, here.. Here comes the sting the pang of tears that echoes through my body…

“I’m so scared..”
“Don’t think about it- it will destroy you”

This worry runs deep, but the worry of hope runs deeper and quakes with beats of a heart far from another. Bombs and darkness, red of blood and oil of hate, a war in and out my mind and his body. If you die… I’ll never have time to hate you.

Submitted on 2006-11-16 15:38:36 Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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||| Comments |||
I just felt like the first sentence was maybe awkwardly written with all the 'and' here and there. Although I adore the ending thought of the first paragraph. It's really... well placed I guess.

May I ask why you repeat that same sentence - I just realized that you did. I don't know why, but to me restating the idea that you are writing to 'somebody' whilst leaving that character vaguely unknown just... doesn't make sense - either you want somebody to understand you, or you don't; not both. The image you protrayed in the second stanza, as I read it, kind of seemed extremely dark and gloomy. Almost as if you're saying that below the cliff is the inside of your mind, and that she's almost creating the fissure herself - which inherently made the cliff where she stands - even though, she's on it as she is doing, or making the fissure. I also thought of somebody tracing out the many lines of your brains with a knife - slowly but extremely painfully taking away every bit of your personality. It's almost like she's stripping you of your humanity, in the literal sense of it being what seperates us from animals - or so we say.

See, first of all you put a comma after deep this time, unlike the first time - which I would've voided from my comment out of sake of avoiding opinions, but you're contradicting your own paradigm. Pick one, once again, not both =p. When I read feather rolling upon the hills... or whatever it was.. I thought of a nice zephyr right on the spot, sort of like in those picture moments, slowly causing this beautiful and almost rhythmic sway of the many little green soldiers - which went well with what you said before - and also made me picutre a girl in one of those almost doll-like dresses skipping along in the zephyr, along the sway of the grass in this sort of isolated plateau - in an elevated sense of things, almost like on a different level. And being as you keep saying that she's literally walking on your mind, but that your mind is full of things you create and that she's really on those things it's almost like this subconcious self-serving metaphore, you know?

Now once I read this new paragraph, I almost felt like I missed the whole purpose of this piece, but I realized I was just being oblivious to certain words - and there generic contexts - like 'trenches, cliff... - for vimy, and d-day - but this also almost is a benign factor to my thoughts on this piece. He's literally writing to her, whereas the analogy is certain and couldn't be taken as lightly as to believe that these thoughts are dedicated to her in mere existence.

I hope you don't mind if I just skip a paragraph - being as it was both just one sentence, and well... pretty self-explanitory. This paragraph I found overly abundant with well, information. It really moved to story along - unlike the paragraphs above, that described in a slow repetitive manner - and it's finally picking up the paste. Now, I consider this a little destructive in most cases, because time is of essence in just about everything and by speeding things up you're just taking it away from the piece. But, I think it's suit the evolution of the thoughts in this piece because at first, it's an unclear ulterior focus, and when it comes to him it's like this bad rush. He's considering insanity what he doesn't know is actually an obsessive reality, but elaborates this 'fact' - a.k.a. love - as a veracious nature of his. But see, you repeat lines again without placing this she character and the actor, but this male character who's at war. And it's almost interesting as a question: Is he making up a character within - like a muse? or Is he just insane, and doubting the commitment on the other side - almost in a paranoid sense?

I found a mistake, I think, did you mean 'coarse against my skin..' ? And see, in this paragraph it's almost like you leave the soldier and melt into the wife who's either found out about his death or gone to where he died - like a memorial thing or what not - and finds herself in the almost exact same plight as he... obsession is love, only it is deeper than skin and mind. And it's here <=== precisely there that I realized the poem revolved around the female character the whole time. Sometimes I'm stupid - all the same things apply, sort of, and if they don't I'm just too lazy to start over - and sometimes I pick up on my stupidity.

I sincerely enjoyed the twist at the end. All the blame comes out, all the truths are exposed and it's final - the quintessence of she is he. War has torn them asunder, and she's too scared to hope knowing how shattered and inherently broken she'd be if he died - but she can't help be NEED to hope. She cares too much to let go, and I think hate is ill-portrayed in contemporary arts when opposed to love because it almost puts a blame on the other, which I don't find is ever the case. The reality invading their little dream is what she'd hate, not being able to fulfill the incumbent purpose of her love, without really blaming him, but more or less the context around him. Then again, I might just be misunderstanding all of it and misreading the poem... you know... like a moronic inept ES member.

Have fun... hope you enjoyed...

Outlaw
| Posted on 2006-11-16 00:00:00 | by Outlaw | [ Reply to This ]

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