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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Sad Story of Mandots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Soulraven
    ASL Info:    31/Male/Illinois
    Elite Ratio:    4.05 - 510/481/142
    Words: 142
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 547
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 995



    Description:
       i have to warn you this is a very strange form but i hope you guys understand it. if you can't please leave a post letting me know how to make it make sense.

    Thank You, Christopher


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

    dotsSad Story of Mandots
    -------------------------------------------


    Old man in a diner
    Has no family
    No one to call his own
    Just sits there
    Drinking his coffee alone

    Waitress brightens the day
    Pouring conversation
    Faking a smile to the host
    Brings, Rings tickets
    Dreams of her own ticket
    To the coast

    Self-lessly gave
    Her shifts almost done
    Home she'll go
    To get a little rest
    Others hands
    Have wrung her dry

    Strange man in an alley
    Stalks his prey
    Waits deep in the shadows
    Staring in her purse
    She didn't know

    Sad story of man
    Can't right what's done
    Lose control
    Others teach us to cry
    Scarlet necks give
    When hung from the sky


    Naked to the grave
    That day will come
    Take it slow
    Take a deep breath
    Never know when we go
    But we all die
    And leave the mess




    Submitted on 2007-11-18 00:50:29     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      On a personal note, I find this ironic. There's a morbid humor in this that I believe carries your intention of sad and humane into a whole different plane. The irony of man being moral, and being man, at the same time. The irony of man being societal and emotional. The irony that we, created biologically to be selfish and proud, are forced into a world where we need to care for others. Why.

    Sad story of man
    Can't right what's done
    Lose control
    Others teach us to cry
    Scarlet necks give
    When hung from the sky.


    I can see you breathing a deep, mournful sigh here. Just dispersed in yourself over the man you speak of, the stories of others, the connections, which all fall into dust once they're done- killed, suicided, raped, dead. What are we to call ourselves anything spectacular in this world of speculation? What baggage do we carry that we have the right, the abilities, the structures in our eyes, to cry? And then we want to change everything, to make good of what is already there for us... how ungrateful.

    Waitress brightens the day
    Pouring conversation
    Faking a smile to the host
    Brings, Rings tickets
    Dreams of her own ticket
    To the coast


    You captured someone so simple here. So very simple. But it's fantastic. Utterly crafted to be relatable.

    Naked to the grave
    That day will come
    Take it slow
    Take a deep breath
    Never know when we go
    But we all die
    And leave the mess


    The Mess. This is so stagnant and true. It's the final development and the sufficient answer to every character you've created in this poem. A mess. Humanity, the stupid lifestyles that every depressed man, whorish waitress with better intentions and men and women who prey on innocence lead. Humanity is just a mess. It's all a round-about way of being murdered by some instance of fate, destiny, physical end to us. Now we have to accept it. And take a breath and figure it'll last until the next breath is needed. We're so stupid.
    | Posted on 2008-06-20 00:00:00 | by JenFlynn | [ Reply to This ]


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