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Critical Analysis #1
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untitled(sugg. welcome)
| Critical Analysis #1 |
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untitled(sugg. welcome) |
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Tony Di Bart Member
since 2000-01-26
Posts 160Toronto, Canada |
Death is warmth for destitute a womb for the afflicted Satiated minds, possessed by a minefield of voices like a buzzing hive of drones they serve chemical secretions from a queen they have not seen, they all seek my brother and only find rubber rooms. I, deaths wicked brother doth hold them here. They beg of me, plead like lost lambs for the familiarity of their mothers nipple yet I hold them closer, warmer, nearer to my soul. I was born a fruit, from fruit. Neglected by my parents, shunned the second I was created Outcast, to wander, seek and find my home My brothers and sisters you know them well Birth and death friend or foe depending on what you believe My sister, is blessed among the women of your tribe. Revered for gifts she bestows potentials unleashed from a cell exploding across time like a drop of ink in an ocean of probabilities My brother, doth smile his wicked smile and the pharaohs loved him so. He is the mystery of my sister I curse the day I was created I cannot leave, there is no end for me All I know is now. now, this lonely now. that now that never leaves. The world runs from me like rats from a fire scrambling, screaching for a cesspool to save their souls An aids patient in a hospital who lived 5 years to long caresses me like a child would it’s mother The dying children in Africa who have seen no rain since they were born who know no food and only hunger and thirst for something they know not of they, they know me they hate me. A banker in New York he knows me too Yet chooses to face my brother on ledge 52 stories up. I have given you hope, love Joy and satisfaction. I have sacrificed all that I am poured every atom of every thought into the moments that make up your life Hoping that one man, one leader would end it all for me the Buddha, Ghandi, Mohammed, Jesus, they all knew me and let me be I have realized my home It is a transient place My home is your life. Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven claws Jim Morrison |
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| © Copyright 2000 Anthony Di Bartolomeo - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Elyse Member
since 2000-04-16
Posts 414Apex (think raleigh) NC |
Hi Tony! i think you have some really great stuff going on here. for a title (you did ask for sugestions for a title, didnt you?) i would suggest "My name is called Life" or somethin like that. if you use that tho, you mgith wanna tweak a few lines. maybe you could tighten up a little, like maybe combine stanzas 1 & 2 - their ideas, you know. i really dig the next 3 stanzas, but i would cut the line "depending on what you beleive" I dunno, it just rubs me wrong. to be a little picky, AIDS ought to be capitalized, and i wouldnt say 52 stories up, i think maybe thats too many sylables. try 50 or 20 or somethin with 2 slables. i think that works beter for flow. and then, of course, if you use my title, you would wanna tweak the lines in the last stanza where you use the word life. boy did i ramble on. dont hate me  luv Elyse |
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Tony Di Bart Member
since 2000-01-26
Posts 160Toronto, Canada |
Thanks Elyse No you did not ramble. Thanks for the title suggestion. I want a title that does not hint at what the poem is about. The poem is about life but I actually wanted to personify a particular aspect of life. I tried to slowly drop clues about the charatcter of the poem. Thanks for all your comment. See Ya Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven claws Jim Morrison |
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