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Critical Analysis #2
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Mephix
New Member
since 2006-02-07
Posts 2


0 posted 2006-02-07 06:31 AM


Predictable Fiction


Seemingly seperate situations share some similarities
The musty fog hung low, hiding visual clarity
As he walked down the street, in oblivious sense
Situation tense, enhanced by fragments of light that seemed to dance
Dancing around the walls, reflecting the eerie mood
Covering the wound in his chest, the inevitable began to brood
Blood flows more frequently, simply put, he was screwed

But first, let’s reverse the story to the start
And project his life more emotionally and cleverly return back to this part
Spray more irony, revelations and poetic diction
Into just another generic poem, designed to create friction
With more subtle fiction, disguised with fancy adverbs
Complicating this simple story, with stupidly long words
I guess the point of poetry is to be ironic and smart
And skilfully ode metaphors together that affect your mind and heart

So let’s start shall we? Prepare to be touched
By another moronically sad story, that’s drawn out to much
The guy walking down the street, his name is David Nest
And poor David is hurt, he’s been shot in the chest
So our friend David, he lies down and he cries
Because he knows that in my story, David dies
The figment of my imagination he been shot by a fake gun
Bleeding fake blood, by a fake bullet, caused by David’s fake son
Nothing is real in this made up, imaginary rhyme
Yet for some warped reason, fiction affects the mind

A brilliant tapestry of colours saturate the sky’s
Quite a wonderful sight, before David closes his eyes
Colours jolt and jump around with piecing incisions
But this is due to blood loss, causing blurred vision
Things begin to distort and he slumps in a euphoric daze
Amazed and unphazed, he raises blades to that opaque haze
And sets ablaze the ways of his world in a dieing craze
This insanity plays tricks on him, for what seems like days
Until finally he dies, in a dark street, all alone
And so the vibe of this poem, changes its tone
David is on 30 and his sone is only 10
And so trembles the hand writing this poem with this pen
Because as sure as the sky is always the colour blue
This story I’m telling you is completely true
David beats his son, his preferred weapon is a belt
Watching the sons love for his father, slowly go cold and melt
10 years of abuse and 10 yeas of pain
10 years of a young boy, trying to remain sain
And as predictable as this sad story, may be
A young boy trapped in a lonely den of iniquity
Obviously the son shoots his dad, during a dark night
But assuming this scenario, would be wrong, because it isn’t right
David graduates to using a large steel pipe
And comes home drunk one night, just looking for a fight
His son absorbs his rage, until his last dieing breath
Finally reality hits David upon the eve of his son’s death
Guilt, sorrow and regret creep like a disease and infest
And so David walks outside and puts the gun to his chest
He shoots, the bullet pieces his heart and you know the rest
People don’t appreciated what they have until it goes
And the reason for this nobody truly knows
David and his son die, in such a wasted way
And painfully stories like this, happened each and everyday
Its oppressive and sad, in this poem nobody wins
Except for the author, as he slowly grins
Nothing is real in this made up, imaginary rhyme
Yet for some warped reason, fiction affects the mind


© Copyright 2006 Mephix - All Rights Reserved
ravenapples@yahoo.com
Junior Member
since 2006-02-07
Posts 17
Los Angeles, CA
1 posted 2006-02-08 09:01 PM


In the second line you don't need the word visual.

I don't know why you chose to break the 4th wall in this poem the message would have been great with out it.  Your style is very good beside that.  Putting your self in the poem so much opens your work to being what you described in the second stanza.

DavidTheLion
Junior Member
since 2006-04-06
Posts 36

2 posted 2006-04-10 12:49 PM


Hmmm, I wonder if you were talking about me. My name is David. Sounds familiar. I once killed myself in this fashion, but it was real...and the words were quite different.

I like the general feeling of the poem, what I got from it was something more personal, more than a mere poem on poetry. Even though it speaks of fiction, I still feel that the emotion laced throughout is real.  

Would you say you have a sensitive heart, a compassionte person...pensive? Or is that fiction too?

MsSouthernOrchid
Member
since 2003-07-12
Posts 192

3 posted 2006-04-15 11:54 AM


Interesting. Makes one wonder how much is truly fiction.
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