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    dots Submission Name: Once Moredots

    Author: Quin
    Elite Ratio:    3.65 - 39/39/21
    Words: 381
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 975
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2645

       Something that sounds like schizophrenia, but isn't. ^.^

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

    dotsOnce Moredots

    Hateful whispers
    echo violently through
    the walls of this place.
    What it once was
    was laughter, playful
    and rejoicing in the
    simple things.
    Time has worn down our walls
    both imaginary
    and literal,
    and we sit outside watching
    the memories smear across
    the windows Ė midnight oil
    long-since gone out.
    Our simple truths
    are worth far more
    than their exquisite lies.
    And we know this,
    better than anybody,
    but we still do nothing;
    feeling that our contributions
    have little effect
    on the world as a whole.

    Just think about it,
    I say quietly.
    Just think about how
    lucky we are.
    that we donít have to live
    in the darkness,
    nor the spotlight,
    and can enjoy what little
    time we have left
    together in our run down house.

    you reply sadly.
    But we are not
    the small grains that slip by.
    we know we are great
    and the world should know too.
    Our dreams are so much more
    than the sum of our knowledge.
    The world must know us,
    love us,
    fear us,
    in order to understand us.

    I ask, whispering.
    Why do they need to know?
    They are selfish creatures,
    obsessed with themselves,
    and only take note of the extraordinary
    within their own minds.
    They do not care to know
    where the rainbow ends,
    nor how long a Mother Oak lives;
    they donít feel the thrill
    of watching the sun rise
    or the moon fall.
    Why should we cater to them?

    You say firmly.
    Because they are apart of us,
    and we apart of them.
    And if we cannot share our wonders,
    what will we do with them?
    Hide them for ourselves?
    Away from the universe?
    It is not for us to judge
    what they can and cannot know.
    They are the creators of their own demise,
    and we can only make sure
    that they live well;
    curious, imaginative, creative Ė
    these are the feelings
    we should cultivate.

    Now we sit still
    but our hands are busy.
    A leader who feeds his people,
    another who kills them.
    An artist whose mind reaches deep into our own,
    and a poet who mocks him.
    It is circular,
    I say triumphantly.
    As it will always be,
    you say wisely.
    And once more,
    The sun rises.

    Submitted on 2008-02-20 17:58:39     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Wow. I like how you put the reader in the shoes of the protagonist. It makes the poem feel that much more alive. The rhythm feels like a dance, were the contenders try to reel and twirl past each others words.

    Really good.
    | Posted on 2008-02-20 00:00:00 | by Nathaufein | [ Reply to This ]

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