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Death
| Teen Poetry #9 |
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Death |
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Falling rain
since 2008-01-31
Posts 2178Small town, Illinois 
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No da,dums. No pattern. Just raw emotion here.. I would finish writing but i sorta broke down a little. Please forgive me... this poem sucks...  Those cool summer nights Stars captureing our sight Held my heart on my sleeve Praying you would just stay I miss what we had together Promising each other forever It feels like eternity passed by And these feelings can't lie Memories left on replay I'm just slipping away Death swept you off your feet Stealing away my heart beat Rotting in regret Memories won't let me forget You vision won't go away Why didn't you stay? Tears mimic the rain I can't get rid of this pain |
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| © Copyright 2009 Zach Booker-Scott - All Rights Reserved | |||
SEA 
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 2000-01-18
Posts 22676with you |
I'm sorry you are hurting.  it's never easy, it hurts for a long long time when someone we love, passes. time is about all we can do. think good thoughts when it starts to hurt. Remember how that person made your life better just by being in it.  |
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Suncleaver Member
since 2009-01-18
Posts 481Stafford England |
Raw emotion sometimes need to projected without structure, that's why we have free verse. I'm sorry you're hurting, my friend. But like SEA said, if you can ride the storm and remember those lost with love and not regret then you can pull through and do honour to their memory. Never sigh for a better world, it's already composed, played and told. |
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moonbeam
since 2005-12-24
Posts 2356 |
quote: Macbeth: Act 1, Scene 5 "The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry "Hold, hold!"" Tell Shakespeare that he couldn't project raw emotion in a formal setting!  All poetry can project all emotion. Some people have this idea that free verse is anarchic in every sense. I don't think this is the case at all. I write mostly free verse, but to write well in free verse I find harder than say writing a sonnet. FV is not simply about starting to vent the first thing that comes into your head and calling it a poem. That way simply leads to prosey rants or self indulgent diary entry "poems". Anyway that's just my opinion as always. |
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