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    dots Submission Name: Situationsdots

    Author: Crestfallenman
    ASL Info:    24/M/CA
    Elite Ratio:    4.45 - 622/961/454
    Words: 136
    Class/Type: Poetry/Depressed
    Total Views: 1242
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 873


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


    Remissions in summer solitude,
    I look out my window watching seasons change,
    The fall will come soon again to consume the mood.
    The feelings that come of winter so untamed.
    Looking at all the foolish patterns of how I deal,
    Difficult to accept and to live without my desires,
    Remembering loves violence being so surreal,
    As morality demands these feelings to retire.

    Eyes glazed by the remaining desolation,
    This deeper dark trade so captive and alone,
    Deep in the spaces of what is hidden by deprivation,
    Is my soul that is screaming for its home...
    This current void tumors distress deep within,
    I would voyage my life to seek love in chrysalis,
    Yet to be so selfish to ask for your love, is sin...

    So I remain the ghost trapped inside its own abyss.

    Submitted on 2014-06-22 16:19:48     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I disagree with Ethan saying to be a good writer, we have to be downhearted.
    BUTTT... lol
    As for your post,
    I sense the feeling of longing for a love that has left your side. As much as you crave for it, you know it won't be coming around again. And maybe for best, even though it's hard to always see it that way all the time.
    I love how you touch your emotions with the seasons. Though how I hope your inner-self is soon flourished with rays of spring!
    Great write!
    | Posted on 2014-07-03 00:00:00 | by slntfirflm | [ Reply to This ]
      I love the sadness in this piece. I think it was Wordsworth that described poetry as "the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions".

    It's the beauty of such powerful emotions that not only make us human, but stirs creativity, so that we sculpt and craft those emotions into a piece of art, which becomes our outlet to let us deal with them.

    Poetry is a sadness written in solitude.
    | Posted on 2014-06-27 00:00:00 | by Linzi | [ Reply to This ]
      This might sound cheesy but to be a good writer you have to be downhearted. I don't know if a writer can be telling or strike one's feeling by being happy. Your write reminds me of me when I was younger.... I used to have a similar style.

    I also used to equate bad weather with dejection but one day I heard someone saying that there's no reason to say that a rainy day is supposed to be something negative or ugly. It's just a matter of the labels we give to things, labels that might made our mood sway. I once read about NLP it made a lot of sense to me for a long time, in fact my character was partially altered due to it.

    I liked this line

    "As morality demands these feelings to retire"

    there's something to it. It sounds as if it had been taken from an old "Tragedy" I also enjoyed some alliterated lines.

    As for critiques, I would say that lines second and third to last don't flow well. They seem to be/sound like brick on the way, so to speak. I found it hard to read the last part because of them.

    just my take on it, hope you don't mind, no harm intended.

    wishing you well,

    Ethan Brody
    | Posted on 2014-06-24 00:00:00 | by Ethan Brody | [ Reply to This ]
      distant are we from the body,
    does every aching muscle resonate the wonder
    how to survive when thirsty near water,
    how hard is it to not have food with hunger.
    christaline the mirror moves like we do,
    as crisp a cure as anything in chains
    a tomb to hold the way the water sept through
    damned the ocean just because it waves.

    Now how to greet when all the ever afters,
    had tainted me abysmal lullabies,
    for both the sides declared they were the faster
    but both decide the tempting of a lie.
    so ask with me the same tumerous answer
    for what the cancer ever did with kind
    develops does the image of a prayer
    and after them was every way to fly

    wings are wax, the sun is brilliant
    all we are, is all we'll ever be
    imaagine that solution had no differece
    and dare your self the thinnest dream
    for every vail beholds a brother
    and even sisters wore them to
    the calm sharade, and seranade
    of our division by the blues.
    | Posted on 2014-06-24 00:00:00 | by cornonthekob | [ Reply to This ]

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