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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: And The Last Line Rings Truedots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Shadowstar13
    Elite Ratio:    4.73 - 191/191/129
    Words: 289
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 492
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1984



    Description:
       


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

    dotsAnd The Last Line Rings Truedots
    -------------------------------------------


    I long for the days when it wasn't so easy
    To ruin a good week, day, moment, time.

    Life was good
    if you could curl up with a book
    after seven, when your parents didn't know,
    because when they asked if you were sleeping,
    you lied-
    so what if
    the thunder
    is pounding
    outside?

    It was a day to pray for
    if you could dance in the rain
    without your raincoat on,
    or your boots-
    just your t-shirt and cutoffs
    and if you got dirt on your face
    or saw a beetle
    you laughed and moved on

    In the years B. D. (before drama)
    friends were friends and enemies weren't.
    Loyalty went unquestioned.
    There were fights and there were nights
    when you fell asleep crying
    and woke up at three A.M., oblivious
    to what had happened twelve hours before.
    And the bruises healed and there was spoken nothing more
    about the battle to the death hours earlier.

    But then, of course, came the biting
    The pissing, the moaning,
    the bitching, and ah, the most famous-
    whining.

    Friends are frenemies are ends are enemies
    social relations are more complicated than a schizophrenic's diary
    and I'll be beginning to keep one myself
    if some sort of catalyst
    doesn't change
    the need for paranoid rants
    cycling viciously inside this cracked pot of a skull.

    Wasn't this supposed to end,
    isn't titanium supposed do bend
    if the force of a headstrong harpy
    combined with all the powers
    of equal and opposite forces,
    like hate and indifference,
    fire and ice,
    finder and scavenger
    pirate and the pirated
    those who are sick to the bone of all this, and those who treat it?

    Dammit, I hate hormones.




    Submitted on 2009-11-04 17:13:50     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      "In the years B. D. (before drama)
    friends were friends and enemies weren't.
    Loyalty went unquestioned.
    There were fights and there were nights
    when you fell asleep crying
    and woke up at three A.M., oblivious
    to what had happened twelve hours before.
    And the bruises healed and there was spoken nothing more
    about the battle to the death hours earlier."

    That was entirely spot-on for me. Completely described elementary up through half of junior high. Crying myself to sleep and then waking up without any lasting memory of why I'd been crying in the first place was pretty common.

    How I long for the "years B.D."

    Used to be that I preferred books to people; now I'm wondering what on Earth made me change that preference.

    Anyway; I quite enjoyed this. Great work.

    -Bereft
    | Posted on 2010-02-04 00:00:00 | by bereftXofXheart | [ Reply to This ]
      I like the title. It changes the focus of the poem, but holds out on this right up to the end. There is a lot here; a lot of emotion, and not all of it unrestrained. There is also a certain understanding, an understanding of self and some of the reasons behind these strong emotions. It's all a whirlwind, really, a kaleidoscope of tumbling images, but it doesn't seem that way until the last line gives a whole new perspective. It's like Jacob's Ladder (have you ever seen Jacob's Ladder?) Well, if you haven't, you should, so I won't spoil the ending for you, but I'll simply say that what you think is not what it turns out to be at all. There are so many conclusions you could come to, (and you know it's coming to something, that there's a purpose behind the seemingly incongruent events,) but you're left in the dark until the very end, when your mind expands like an elastic band and you finally realize what it all was about.
    There is also a twinge of nostalgia here, a longing for times when things were simpler. This is the one note that runs like a thread throughout your piece. It reminds me quite a bit of two of my own poems, written in my youth, enititled "Taken For Granted, " (the nostalgia part) and "It Doesn't Matter (But it Does,)" (the part at the end when you're citing opposing forces).
    Well Done. A great picture of raging hormones (Horror Moans, if you will) if there ever was one.

    soul-hugger
    | Posted on 2009-11-05 00:00:00 | by Soul-Hugger | [ Reply to This ]


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