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    dots Submission Name: untitleddots

    Author: screams
    Elite Ratio:    5.89 - 447/403/106
    Words: 164
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 508
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1093

       revisions made to a very old post.

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


    brown skin, flayed
    a nation, saved
    when Arms threw
    across the

    and an unknown
    rained down
    on our houses

    ….and now God is our only hope

    we got no tools
    to deal with these tools

    chaos breeds order
    the fear rolls in
    it doesn’t seem wrong
    since one has shown us
    where violence begins

    where violence begins

    we got no tools
    to deal with these tools

    my mind is filled with
    florescent tubes
    some Unknown’s pain
    a bitter juice

    now say this with me
    just this time:
    “it is only juice”

    its only juice

    we got no tools
    to deal with these tools

    I’ve grown used to the smell
    of rotting fruit
    we ground up strife
    and made apple pies

    guilt is my shelter
    guilt is my savior
    the ground is hard beneath my feat

    Submitted on 2015-08-10 21:21:20     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      my mind has been emptied
    of tubes and juice
    and mantras devoted
    to rotten fruit

    I'm living above
    these fractured streets
    that seem so unfriendly
    to these limping feet...
    | Posted on 2015-08-22 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ]
      Sounds like a dependence on an outter source of peace.
    Look into yourself, you'll find it there.
    | Posted on 2015-08-19 00:00:00 | by MyPeriodical | [ Reply to This ]
      Hey. This was a nice read. In all honesty I feel quite a bit rusty with poetry these days, but I can tell that this has a point. I have very conflicting feelings about this poem because it seems almost encased in biblical imagery, which I don't like. Call me a heathen, it is what it is. But the later change in tone of this poem, towards what I feel like is a comical self-derision, I very much enjoy.

    I don't normally like repetition, because of how closely it seems to fall in line with manipulative psychology, but I think it serves well in this poem. The message is subtle enough that I feel like you're not throwing it in people's faces. It's like a well delivered retort that treads the line of boldness, but is held back by a modesty, or reservedness, that ultimately makes it even more respectable.

    I'm not doing well at delivering these, but they're meant as compliments. You're doing things I don't like well enough that I enjoy them, en dépit de moi. Which, to me, can be the sign of a good poet – taking something beaten, dead, disabused, and making it, a least momentarily, interesting.

    The pitfalls of this poem would be (what I would call) the sometimes random uppercase letters, and the typo at the end (feat = feet). But those are minor details in the grand scheme of things.

    | Posted on 2015-08-11 00:00:00 | by Outlaw | [ Reply to This ]

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