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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Hopeful Beacondots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Dead Bell
    ASL Info:    23/m/Ire
    Elite Ratio:    2.42 - 48/129/125
    Words: 188
    Class/Type: Poetry/Longing
    Total Views: 780
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1148



    Description:
       


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    dotsThe Hopeful Beacondots
    -------------------------------------------


    Locked again to this whitewashed bedroom
    Solitude; one poster; four silhouettes at dawn
    That stand in the high dry grass, some fresh vista
    Nevada hills; I imagine I see Lorca roaming gloomy
    By an olive tree, or with a head wound gaping
    Down to the roots we loved so well. Am I letting
    These day-dreams seep into these cold evenings?
    I find my head loose and lulling, my eyes rummaging
    Through dead verse for some line to resurrect
    And why? Why do I waste my time in debt to a questionable talent?

    So I lift my head in down hearted spirit
    And walk to my window to see
    Some warming lights flicker in the distance
    To my own hills, or to Wicklows, I see myself dancing
    Musically around one starry beacon of hope,
    There is no sign of Lorca sadly roaming
    No archers with their arrows, or mobs with their rope
    Urging revolutions and their poets to write
    And when I look down I see a hundred thousand shadows
    Idly dreaming out their bedroom window on a Sunday night









    Submitted on 2010-10-24 17:21:00     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      so thoughts...

    i find i compare myself to other people's writes.
    and at times, i even wonder why i bother at all (writing that is). i get this sense that i lack, or seem uninspired, while all the while i'm looking for inspiration because i feel compelled to get it out.

    i like how this kinda rambles through. how it goes from scene to thought to scene... it sets up a picture in my mind.

    the one thing i would almost do without here, is the caps at each beginning. but i suppose for me, that is just a preference.

    at least i feel i am not the only one tormented by words. it's this weird love/hate relationship, i find. and a challenge to make them mean. (not mean as in - he was a mean boy. but to mean. be meaningful.)


    | Posted on 2010-11-12 00:00:00 | by isabella | [ Reply to This ]


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