#1
Poem.


Amongst the flowers rotting, pretending
we know the difference between
the friendship of a hug and the
intimacy of a cuddle, the tenderness
of a kiss and the mutuality of a handshake.
Behind a gravestone, where moss grows green
and brown, leaving a stain when we
brush passed, destroying the only
thing here that breathes and lives.

Carving our starsigns in the bark of
an oak tree old and withered, branches desperately
wanting to stroke the sky - hands in the dirt -
hoping the blood will pour so we
know it is still alive and with us. Intangible
lines in the grey bark are the oak's only means
of communicating, in valleys and hills of poetry,
a language neither of us can fully comprehend.

And here comes the punch to the stomache,
that sharp stabbing pain when we realise
we’ve done something we’ve come to regret
and the only way to break it off is to
hurt the someone you love more than anything else.
You’ll say her name in the night,
the cold night night night
night of the dark of the night of the dark of the night
and you will never fall asleep again,
grasping that cold empty space beside you,
wishing you weren’t so unforgiving,
just wanting to give it that little chance.
You'll dream of the dead oak and the blood
you hope to see; of the cold gravestones
a habitat for life. You ask yourself which of you
is the dead part of the relationship,
denying you already know the answer.

When two souls meet they create a greater kind of fondness;
When two shadows meet they create a deeper shade of darkness.

Last edited by Dæmönika at Oct 17, 2008,
#3
I think the second stanza is the weak point in this. You could explain that the tree is also dead by describing how it looks, then say you're still hoping for a sign that it bleeds when you carve in it. Maybe ask how you'd know if it was alive from it bleeding.

If you don't re-write it (which I think would be worth doing, I really like this piece) then at least ditch the 'rather sad'. It's wayyy too obvious. You have a beautiful way of describing the darker things in life. Do it

The word play on stomach is intentional? Meh.
I find the repetition annoying, though I do it too. If you tied up this stanza more in metaphor intertwining it with the image of the tree, but saying the same things, it would be rather brilliant. Carrying on with the image of the tree and the blood being it's life. The life of the moss which envelopes the dead gravestones. This would gain so much strength if it continued with the scene.
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
#4
Quote by Dæmönika
Poem.


Amongst the flowers rotting, pretending
we know the difference between
the friendship of a hug and the
intimacy of a cuddle, the tenderness
of a kiss and the mutuality of a handshake. Beautiful start, grabbed me right away
Behind a gravestone, where moss grows green
and brown, leaving a stain when we
brush passedpast?, destroying the only
thing here that breathes and lives. Beautiful line. Best so far, really created the atmosphere perfectly.

Carving our starsigns in the bark of
a rather sad oh god no, get rid of that please, it ruins the great atmosphere you had goingoak tree, begging
to bleed just to let us know it
can feel the sharp pain in its side.
We’ll never see the tears as we
run away hand in hand to prepare
for a long and fruitful relationship. Second half is much better. The first half is too "obvious" and really ruins the atmosphere you built up in the first stanza

And here comes the punch to the stomache,
that sharp stabbing pain when we realise
we’ve done something we’ve come to regret
and the only way to break it off is to
hurt the someone you love more than anything else. And now the atmosphere is back in full swing, great so far, really feeling this piece
You’ll say her name in the night,
the cold night night night
night of the dark of the night of the dark of the night I'm an insomniac, so I know exactly what your going on about here
and you will never fall asleep again,
grasping that cold empty space beside you,
wishing you weren’t so unforgiving,
just wanting to give it that little chance.
Only then have you tasted the real life. Oh sweet God, this stanza could be about me, except I'm alone for a different reason. This stanza stuck a knife in my chest, beautiful



I love this piece, you just need to fix up the second stanza, it ruins the piece. I agree one hundred percent with DigUpHerBones, if you fix up that stanza it will be perfect. What I do disagree on is the repetition. Because I have trouble sleeping, I'll lie in bed for hours and it really feels like "night night night night of the dark of the night of the dar of the night". Well done. Top link in my sig if you want to return the favour.