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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: 186, 285 mpsdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Pietro
    ASL Info:    30/m/cebu
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 298/175/36
    Words: 101
    Class/Type: Poetry/Longing
    Total Views: 891
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 729



    Description:
       an oldie. wrote this last year. dont really know why i took so long in posting it. anyway, im no astrolonomer. but i do so wonder whats out there.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dots186, 285 mpsdots
    -------------------------------------------


    Starlight so far away,
    beating down on me.
    Taking eons to caress my face
    and warm the hurling comets inside
    this axis-less orbit of being.

    Gravity
    drawing me nearer and granting
    time to keep-
    and rays
    spun from your prismatic divisions-

    opening my arms to greet
    your embrace;
    pulling everything inside
    the black hole of
    this infinite and infinitesimal
    lacuna.




    But little do I know,
    you are already dead.
    Luminescent and ghostly.





    A posthumous touch-
    of a supernova love.






    Submitted on 2007-01-16 02:51:33     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I'm going to start this comment by being a bit of a nitpick biatch. Supernova should be all one word. "Gravitationally" seems a bit too bulky and I think "gravity" would give the same meaning while looking and sounding all neat and trim.

    But yeah, it's a lovely poem. I like a bit of romantic tragedy, that longing for a love that proves to be nothing more than dead starlight, and the way beauty alone isn't enough to fill the lacuna. But despite that, when stars are so pretty, who cares? There's got to be someone for everyone in all the infinity. Something fantastic.
    | Posted on 2007-07-23 00:00:00 | by Icarus | [ Reply to This ]
      Starlight so far away,
    beating down on me.
    Taking eons to caress my face
    and warm the hurling comets inside
    this axis-less orbit of being.

    Gravitationally
    drawing me nearer and granting
    time to keep-
    and rays
    spun from your prismatic divisions-

    opening my arms to greet
    your embrace;
    pulling everything inside
    the black hole of
    this infinite and infinitesimal
    lacuna.




    But little do I know,
    you are already dead.
    Luminescent and ghostly.





    A posthumous touch-
    of a super nova love.



    What an ironic write. Or what an ironic twist to the hopefulness of love as it appears to the oft wounded romantic desparate for the human touch that never seems to fulfill the need. Strangely enough, this has the resonance of a monologue given by the best friend of the romantic lead in the latest play; always destined to be the noble shoulder to cry on. The touch destined to always be the posthumous smile and nod of what if?'

    Nicely done cup of the bittersweet.
    Bill.
    | Posted on 2007-01-16 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ]
      what I liked about this is how it fit as a visual metaphor - lending itself to the pictures of love and death and dying. I'm not much on commenting these days but I hope you get what I am unable to say with the words I have spewed thus far. Happy New Year.
    | Posted on 2007-01-16 00:00:00 | by CrypticBard | [ Reply to This ]


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    January 10 07
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