*sigh* this poem looks better on DeviantArt because the spacing stays right. Stupid Gaia condenses all multiple space instances to single space instances. What can you do?
Write me an embrace.
Scribble a heart and make it beat under someone else’s skin
so that I can feel it.
Sketch hair like a river so I can smell it and rub it in my face and taste Her
again.
The last person I saw wearing paper was homeless,
and home is where the heart is,
so when I write myself a paper She,
does it make me as heartless as I feel?
Ink does not freeze in winter
and die of exposure so instead of letting Her warm me,
it becomes my blood
and beats, something there to
keep me alive.
Printer paper palpitates in the wind,
so if it is my staircase to heaven,
instead of Her,
I
trip
as
though
nothing
were
there
at
all.
My fall
is more endless than Her eyes,
so something reminds me of Her before I hit bottom and
c r a s h
Like a doll, this new love will please me,
her sweet smile release me.
I can give her skin like a newborn child,
Hair to make angels grumble
Eyes to make cities crumble
Breasts to make kingdoms stumble.
But - I - can - not - breathe - her - air.
her arms are - - - - - - - - - far away.
Farther than distance.
Nothing can hold me.
I need Her touch.
N E E D
and a poem that leaps from my chest to the screen
puts my home where no one has ever been
and I still feel
h e a r t l e s s.
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Carpe Diem Ad Muertum
Sieze the day, to the death. There is no potential that shall be passed by, there is no piece of glory to fall by the wayside, there is no soul to left unsaved by the brilliance of language. As writers, we are gods.
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User Comments: [1] [add]
User Comments: [1] [add]
Community Member
It took me three tries to read this "properly", that is to say, in a manner which made it coherent and logical within the bounds of the English language, which may or may not speak for my literary prowess right now. I found it rather interesting for the categorization you chose though, when submitting (if I'd noticed it earlier on, perhaps it would not have taken me three tries).
I liked the writing-to-love(?) conceit (is it a motif, in a poem, or a conceit? I think conceit, for something elaborate as this; motif would be a pattern more than comparison), even if its distribution is rather uneven (I assume this is deliberate). The last two-thirds of the second stanza was my favourite, right to the end of the one-word lines. It got a little choppy towards the end, maybe because of the sudden capitalization of the word "need." I'm not sure.
It's nice though, in an "acquired taste" kind of way. Does that make sense?
Also, I read the post before this. Your professor is amazing. His insights are, of course, valuable, but the way he writes is a different addiction in itself. Reminds me a bit of Hugh Laurie, dosed with a copious serving of alliterations biggrin