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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Of Valiance and Pretensedots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: AtrophyEmpathos
    ASL Info:    19 M California
    Elite Ratio:    4.39 - 45/55/29
    Words: 533
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 708
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 3712



    Description:
       Repost, unedited (sorry looking for more comments). You're totally awesome if you comment on this and I will love you forever.


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

    dotsOf Valiance and Pretensedots
    -------------------------------------------


    It’s like a firelight masquerade
    Blurred in the night.
    Faces and shadows
    Take shape by starlight.
    And the breath in our lungs
    Is laden with ether:
    A drug known as Privilege;
    Far too often breathed;
    Far too little sensed.

    So all the masqued and trampled hearts cry,
    “Betrayal!”
    So every bloodstained hand spreads
    Blood
    So each soul is torn by the Wing - yet screams,
    “Chastity!”

    Well we have seen betrayal,
    and we have seen blood.
    It stains the pale throats
    of those valiant few
    Who loved and strived and
    fought with their hearts
    ‘Til the bitterness of those faces
    faded to dark.

    Still once in a while
    a face will be seen,
    Compassion will nourish
    what before had not been.

    For the faces are beautiful
    soaked in the night,
    But the masques hide them well
    as the Valiant can fight:

    Err and falter,
    try though we will
    the few who have courage
    Are cast out and killed.
    But always we return;

    For we live a life of Privilege
    and know all too well
    Not to waste what is given
    So short before the Knell.

    See the masques are not walls
    and the masques are not lies
    They may hide the face
    but still show the eyes.

    So those who walk among the Valiant
    but who themselves are not
    Wallow in disgrace,
    self-loathing, and wrought
    Tight with the fierceness of
    A singular note: Despair.
    Drawn high, it puppets the heart
    and chokes up the throat
    As the weak replace
    masques and retreat

    To Illusions of Chastity,
    poured from a mold,
    But the Valiant strive on
    having much to behold.

    Now all the blackened hearts
    will spread falsity and pain:
    Now all the smoky masques
    pass indifferently through the night
    Each one a Vulture, proud in its might.

    These carrion birds will prey
    on the trusting and meek,
    Noble hearts too wounded
    to truthfully speak.
    Lonely hearts of scavengers
    avoid compassion and belief,
    If the others seem ugly
    their beauty is chief.

    Still they are Vultures
    but for them some are weak;
    They circle slowly lower,
    Hearts slow their beats.

    Still the Valiant fight on,
    Still they stand tall,
    Kneeling only to
    Honor's triumphant call.

    And though the blackened hearts
    rend Wings
    And though the many masques
    shine with Cruelty
    And though they yet rejoice
    in the Fall
    We must strive on.

    For the Masques are oft' nothing more
    Then the unshed afterbirth of so many
    Desperate, broken Hearts.

    They are born in the ether,
    They are cut from the night
    They are the Fall.
    They are the broken dream.
    They are the blackened heart,
    And the rended Wings.

    While we falter, the scavengers laugh
    Though we trust them always, they lie
    Behind Masques of Chastity, they scorn us -
    But we fight on.

    We are the lovers, the poets, the strong.
    We are brothers and sisters in arms:
    Against pretense and falsehood,
    Striving from unsheltered heights
    to an unbridled immaculate Dawn

    And though we may be torn down,
    We will always fight on.




    Submitted on 2005-08-15 02:53:52     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      There was some symbolism that I totally didn't get. What are you trying to say with Chastity? Seems like you're saying it's a bad thing, although that doesn't make sense to me.

    It was hard to get a sense of the rhythm at first, although it was really good in the middle. It got choppy again towards the end, though.

    I think you're either trying to say:
    1) Writers are always having to deal with having their craft put down and/or over analyzed, but we've still got to write
    or
    2) There are those who fall in love and those who break hearts, and the ones who fall in love never stop and are always hurt.

    I'm not too good at interpreting poetry, as you can tell, but I like the style and voice in this piece.
    -HaldirLives
    | Posted on 2005-08-15 00:00:00 | by HaldirLives | [ Reply to This ]


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