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Look at this patch of light, it flew through The concrete void and finally collided Into this dreamy scattering. Is this my gift, or was it ever real? The drums are fading but my heart catches up, It is the song bird of the morning, unaware Of the eavesdropping hopefuls with strained Joints and eager noses. If I were to break out The life line on my palm, stretch and subside Like a book thrown on the floor – by accident – The ink would be awash with fire, bluish hue and then - - Obscurity, condensed between the collarbones. I should be bold and rip it out, my faulty trachea collapsing in the bitter air where ghosts of you are lingering. |
I believe "ghosts of you" is not grammatically correct. You is a singular based noun while ghosts refers to more than one. The good news? I was actually pulled into this piece. I have a hard time reading others work as I crave a specific writing style that is hard to find. Though that is not this style I think you did well. The poem is very clear. It has good fines during the most confusing part. My question to you is why did you name it "Period" ?| Posted on 2013-02-18 00:00:00 | by siroez | [ Reply to This ] | Nice work. I like the way it captures our attention with the beginning, the command to "look". I'm left a little wondering towards the end about what's going on but then it's early yet and I'm only half way down on my coffee. Just now I'm feeling it lacks a nail. | | Posted on 2013-02-02 00:00:00 | by Blue Monk | [ Reply to This ] | |