pillared inside the etchings of thought,
birthed within parapets of the mind
and the crevices of philosophy,
were mere slaughtered wombs;
and intoxication took toll
as global games of martyr-dolls,
with backyards as barren crossings
of lust's mines:
and sections of dust,
where a child's echo
could not play wild flutes.
to beat with rhythemic pulse
of difference's venations,
and the soul was supported
with fragile strings
that tossed about in agony.
A contest entry
- 1 hour contest - closes in 1 hour by Tangled Angle.
300 points, ended November 24, 2007, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Criticism Is Very Much Welcomed -- I Am Here To Learn
Comments
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-and sections of dust,
where a child's echo
could not play wild flutes.
strongest i've read from you, i believe.
i really really liked this one. your best from what i have read (and i have only read a few).
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a couple f quick returns to this... rhythmic and perhaps dropping the period after flutes...this would keep the reader from being waylaid by such when what you have to say is powerful and in need of expression...again.... man, you are good.
-
"to beat with rhythemic pulse
of difference's venations,
and the soul was supported
with fragile strings
that tossed about in agony."
I think it would make more sense if you took out 'to' then again, I'm not entirely sure what you are trying to say.
What you have here is excellent, but always.. no matter what make sure your punctuation and spelling is correct- it makes the poem much easier to understand.
Great use of metaphor.. overall, well done.
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