i will drag these bones
through muck to the small village
by the edge of the river
where those who wandered here
before their time
sit in small huts with their
bones all separated and holding
their fleshy bodies which
are an anachronism in this place.
there i'll sit and rest a while
on the murky banks
awaiting the next ride
to eternity, with no fleshy
substance to call my own.
Author notes
what happens after we die
A contest entry
- the suggestion box by grassisgreener.
600 points, ended March 10, 2008, 11 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
oh wow.
This was very heavy, like being dragged through mud. I loved the weight you gave this its amazing!
You really put gut into it and I like that so much, the story is amazing I dont come across stories too often that I like! <3 amazing.
xo♥ -
so i really love this. there is a bit to be cleaned up--small things like the repetition of "here" which is a bit too vague. you could end the line "are an anachronism." and "where those who wandered"
also i think the last line could use some kind of punch. i'm sorry i'm being so critical--it's only because i see a lot of potential in this piece!!! the title is perfect. the boat ride, a literal crossing over to the other shore. the opening is strong, painful, the imagery exact and precise. thank you for entering!!! -
I never have, thank goodness, looked at the after like in such a maner. This is a very well written piece of poetry. You have a creative pen. Good luck in the contest.
Kelli
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