#1
I am an operatic failing of epic proportions,
Served with a selfish meal of pathetic rations.
A lonely bird contorting true love into distortion,
And now it seems irony is the latest fashion.

I have never trusted a burning ghost so much,
Until I found a reason to breathe you in.
These soiled wings have become a crutch,
For which I use to create my very own sin.

The moon is gone and the graves are fed,
Though she can still speak in tongues.
All of my marytrs and God's have fled,
So that I may breathe with devestated lungs.

Self loathing but never centered,
I save nothing for myself.
A facade of safety I have entered,
Just to be another dusty book on your shelf.
#2
Quote by itwasaghost


This wasn't a bad read at all. You have good sense of rhythm and pacing, and generally it is very tightly written.


I am an operatic failing of epic proportions,
I did take to the exagerration here, I thought it was good to open with.
Served with a selfish meal of pathetic rations.
A lonely bird contorting true love into distortion,
And now it seems irony is the latest fashion.
Sharp rhyming, enough to interest rather than bore. No complaints.

I have never trusted a burning ghost so much,
Until I found a reason to breathe you in.
These soiled wings have become a crutch,
For which I use to create my very own sin.

The problem sometimes with pieces like these is they often drift into the very abstract, thematically, so that what the piece ends up talking about is a giant "it" that is never really confronted, just talked around through a blanket of wording and the imagery/metaphor. Here, I feel that the piece is talking around the feeling/emotion/idea that is wanting to be conveyed, rather than delving into the actual thing. It is an overload of metaphors (which, as I read, do continue down the page).

You notice how many you use? Almost every stanza/verse here has one or two new (plus continued ones, such as the bird appearing in both these two stanzas here), and it can make for a read that starts out pleasant, but slowly falls apart as you sprea your net too wide. It would have been cool to open with that "lonely bird" metaphor and expanded it. Yet in the second stanza you introduce (what, by your title, is the most important idea) the "burning ghost". We than have things like "breathe you in", "become a crutch", irony being a fashion and some "pathetic rations" of somethign we're not really sure of.

It just feels like instead of really tying it down to one thing, the themes become ever-widening.


The moon is gone and the graves are fed,
Though she can still speak in tongues.
All of my marytrs and God's have fled,
So that I may breathe with devestated lungs.
This stanza completely loses it for me. Same problems as above ocntinue, but here, I lose the plot. Why are the graves fed? With who? By who? why is she speaking in tongues? What do the last two lines here really tell us?

Self loathing but never centered,
I save nothing for myself.
A facade of safety I have entered,
Just to be another dusty book on your shelf.


It is one of those pieces where yes, you would be able to answer each and every one of the question I posed, yet I doubt many people who read this could with much certainty. Whether this is lyrics or poetry, it doesn't matter, as it never feels like we get to the point.

Lovely use of rhyme and rhythm for flow, and some interesting ideas, yet take away this; as a reader/listener, I want to see the seed of your writing, the real ideas and feelings that inspired the piece, and so understanding the ideas that grew from that. What I'm getting here is topsoil, and it would probably take me a few hours of digging to see the central theme.

Ya get me?

Ta.

If you wish to reply, I've got a new one in my sig. Thanks if you do; no worries if not.

Have a nice day.