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Critical Analysis #2
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A sentient story
| Critical Analysis #2 |
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A sentient story |
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rhia_5779 Senior Member
since 2006-06-09
Posts 1334California |
N E W E N G L A N D The whispers of the dolphins are muted by the sun, As they dive down to the depths of life undone. The cries of the whales are drowned beneath skyscrapers. Powerful tales splash protesting the cheating papers. A L A S K A Law means nothing to the People when the oil spills, The destruction that reigns from the poison kills. Rainbows in the coral diminish in the flood, ceasing to exist. Otters fur is stained, while the mermaids are smothered in its deadly kiss H A W A I I The eels hiss their epithet in streams of bubbles land deaf upon the touched. Silver jewels fall free down the cheeks of the one that can hear the sagas and such . Her ankles stand against the waves lapping at her feet, the voices penetrate her mind. Flames dance her seven year old eyes forever and her hand trails in the oceans tide. G A L A P A G O S The symphony of shark cries echoe through the sandy waters to one ear. His parents sit behind him lost, no one notices as his eyes begin to tear. The five year old monster becomes a vessel for beyond his wildest nightmare-dreams. His teenage sister a victim of cupid can hear no sound but her own heart beat. Every summer someone can hear the stories that are told. Untainted heart and clean in core, a child that is not old. This way the memories are not lost like Atlantis, the dead city. Minds of the empty still move on building the ocean without pity. A U S T R A L I A The octopuses keen the sentience of their kind with passion. Perched on a surfboard, a four year old understands of a fashion. Stranded down under , the heart ache rings true. The orphan gazes into clear water blue. The green turtles of warm oceans bury their eggs in the sand and sing their song. The chorus of the aria is echoced back in the sadness of the dawn. Only a sandcastle builder can recreat their melancholy tune. Their job is done to lay the eggs, so they end up leaving their young too soon. Golden snail palaces that take the name of shell, cry out their fable in a presented gift. A lucky child tan from the blazing glory, receives the present and catches the well meant drift. Her head stained with specks of tiny sand tilts itself to one side in a question asked. But she must unravel the mystique alone for the tellers refuse to unmask. Crabs pinch their treasures tight within their claws and refuse to let go Except for the only one thats worth more for us to hear to know. The clapping of the pincers signal a story from ancestral times. The pinched ten year old girl buried in the sand can recognize the sign. Tentacles made of particles of jelly cling to his pale chubby legs. offering entwiment with creature and alien , joined by tiny threads. Joined long enough to be marked by streams of blue poison running through the transparent substance entering human blood. a sacrifice made for a bearer of the past, the baby stumbled into a box jellyfish beached in the mud. Blazing sparks of red and orange fire reach and overtake the pin feathers of the red tailed hawk. fallen nest left alone is found by the crawling baby girl whose diseased legs can’t support her walk. Blonde curls bounce on a head that will never soar except in spirit at the hawk’s soaring call. A baby’s scream risen from the ashes giving voice to grief in her babies’s dying fall. Everyone has an epic of their own, for somebody to tell. Polynesians, Amazonians and Indians, , ring a bell. History is written by the winners of the conquest in their crowning glory. But what about the others, the ones who can tell a different TRUE story. |
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