#1
He smelled like old shaving cream
And cologne mixed with Benedictine

The car rolled out like a failed plan
And stopped dead under a street lamp
"Just as well," he scratchily spoke
"Should've known better when I woke"

The slow burn of the setting sun
And low-flying jets dotting the horizon
Signal there's something left to search for
A heart beating in the torpor

Fireflies in a field
Lightning in the distance
"It's all my fading light -
Inspiration flashes and dies"

Pop the clutch, push into first
The same way that he rehearsed
Winter days when the battery died
Fuel pulsing through the lines

Drove down past the town center
Grabbed a shiraz from the vintner
Fireflies splattered on the windshield
Where their luminescence congealed

"Meet me here
Feel my air
Who I was
Wanted to be
Once"

Thunder murmurs in the distance
Heralding its own existence
He takes a sip, perched on the hood
The air whips 'round, the wine is good

"When I was young, I lived for these moments
That I could share with no one
Now that I'm older, I can't fathom
How any of this could matter"

Fireflies in a field
Lightning in the distance
"It's all my failing light
Where inspiration goes to die"

"Meet me here
Feel my air
Who I was
Wanted to be
Once"
I am a fake mountain.
#2
I enjoyed this one. It takes it's sweet time, and that's the beauty.
Guitar/Bass:
Schecter: Damien 6/Stilletto Extreme 5, Squier: Bullet HSS*, Washburn RX10*/WG-587, Agile Septor 727
*mods

Amps/FX
Peavey: Vypyr 30/Max 112 (200W), ISP: Decimator

Quote by dannyalcatraz
Understood- I waste money on amps*, too.

justinguitar.com is the answer
#3
I'm not a fan of the AABB rhyme scheme because it usually makes the flow feel broken by each line, but most times you made it work, which is a great thing.
Quote by DanTheHobbit
The slow burn of the setting sun
And low-flying jets dotting the horizon
Signal there's something left to search for
A heart beating in the torpor

Fireflies in a field
Lightning in the distance
"It's all my fading light -
Inspiration flashes and dies"

Pop the clutch, push into first
The same way that he rehearsed
Winter days when the battery died
Fuel pulsing through the lines

These are the weakest stanzas in here because of that. The first three lines on that first stanza are great but "a heart beating in the torpor" breaks the sentence and, consequently, makes the line sound a bit forced. The last quoted stanza is a perfect example of what I mean with a broken flow from each line.

Those minor complaints aside, this was pretty good for what you were going for. There's a lot of rich imagery and word choices, as well as good rhymes all around. Maybe the biggest picture gets lost in all this images you're building, at least I'm not entirely sure what you mean by all of it, but that may very well be my fault.

I think this sounds way more complainant than intended, because I truly enjoyed it and I see a lot of potential in your writing.
#4
seventh_angel For whatever reason, rhyming is my thing, whether it bolsters or weakens the quality of my pieces. I can see what you mean here, that the lines lose a bit of their power and natural feel. Point taken.

The piece is about losing one's raison d'etre, in my case a severe bout of writer's block compounded by years of alcoholism. The bits of spark are remnants of what once was natural and fulfilling. I figured that's too specific and tried to make something of the concept regardless of how diluted my personal circumstances became. Cheers!
I am a fake mountain.