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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Lensdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: saartha
    ASL Info:    27/F/US
    Elite Ratio:    4.03 - 230/390/136
    Words: 197
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 1241
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1307



    Description:
       Not a serious poem, just playing around.


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

    dotsLensdots
    -------------------------------------------


    No, this isn't poetry
    that goes for blood.

    In this poem,
    there is a man
    with you in the room.
    Two chairs
    and a gun on the table.

    You are both
    staring at the gun.
    Neither of you are killers
    probably

    but it would be easy to kill,
    and you are thinking about it.
    The man is also
    no doubt thinking.

    How long to wait? You have already
    murdered in your heart.
    You have already thought
    him dead a hundred times,
    he has already killed you.

    The gun goes off,
    apropos of nothing.
    In the corner, a cockroach
    splatters apart.

    If he were human the cockroach
    was Brad Pitt, a fine example
    of roachkind. In this poem,
    he was always
    the main character.
    He is thinking of his
    thousand children.
    What remains of his eyes
    glaze over.

    The side characters sweat it out
    and circle each other
    but the story is already over.

    You waited too long,
    it now no longer matters
    if you kill him again.
    The cameras are off.

    The gun is on the table.
    Do whatever you want.




    Submitted on 2016-06-18 19:28:26     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!




    ||| Comments |||
      I like this idea, although I don't really know what it is you're pushing here. Death, or rather a fear of it, is generally what will paralyze most animals into a frothy kind of mental delirium. But we, humans, shudder and shake at the idea of killing; of giving death, instead of being hunted by it. There's a certain dilemma in that: are we weak because of spurious considerations bound to our minds (and thereby having no impact on the world de facto), or are we brilliantly progressing into a more complex consideration and understanding of the world around us?

    I must admit, however, that your metamorphosis in this poem felt a bit shallow. Like it was missing something, some kind of key. But as you say, do whatever you want.
    | Posted on 2016-07-21 00:00:00 | by Outlaw | [ Reply to This ]


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