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Critical Analysis #1
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Separation
| Critical Analysis #1 |
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Separation |
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Master Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867Boston, MA 
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Look at the sunrays, people! Those are her fingers, veering. I am almost ready to leap now toward her from the roof of my building. Look how the sun is crashing on the blade of the glowing horizon! People, I’m stoned by this passion, I am lost in light of her eyes now! On the fork of a thousand roads, drunk with the smell of the pines, I wander and hang my sorrowful notes on the nerves of the telephone lines. Hello? Answer me! Anybody? What can extinguish my love’s scorching flame? Every night, waiting for her, I cram my body into the window frame. You, who’ve had a lot to cope with, whose lives have long turned sour and dire, know that the doors of my ribcage are always open, come and sit by the fire! Do you hear the thunder of my whisper? That is my soul on the stage of my tongue. People, I need her, I miss her! In her absence, my body is wrung... These walls box me in. Feeling lonely, like a snake, on the mattress, I coil and depression collapses upon me like six feet of the graveyard soil. Burdened by the weight of the silence, I recall from the past, gasping, and abruptly, two overcast eyelids shut at once with a bang of a casket. But even in dreams, her vision, appears in the night and remains... and gently, her brief apparition, I catch with the net of my veins. Though this bliss may appear unending, both, the night and the dream must cease. She is grinning at me, enchanting, as she vanishes into the mist... The gray beard of the mist fills the alley, raindrops drum on the bong of my window. Autumn mimics my sweet melancholy and transforms itself into winter. Homeless winds sing from under the bridges, as the morning embraces the land. There, I ramble, feeding the pigeons out of the palm of my hand... Once more, I am one with the landscape. Like the valley, I’m covered with frost. Like the shivering branches, my hands shake. Like the trees, I am standing exposed. Have you noticed your son, Mother Nature? In you sight, I still wander perplexed. Separated from love, I am raging, Is it true that the spring will come next? Dejected, I’ve looked high and low, tread the Milky Way, searching for answers, lost my way in the whirlpools of snow, now, I stray here, homeless and senseless. Here, I drift with the winds as I cast my eyes to the skies, starless and bottomless, I can change! Let me sweep the debris of the past under the carpets of puddles. Hey, up there! Do you hear me?! You, angels, hovering up above me, do not lie to me, tell me sincerely, could she possibly learn to love me? |
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| © Copyright 2001 Andrey Kneller - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Professor Gloom Member Elite
since 2000-07-23
Posts 3082of Depression |
For this format, These images are too much, Too scattered, too tattered. To do this is should perhaps in a play, A soliloquy of a drugged out boy in some alley, Early Feb. sleeping in corner with the trash. That might get most of the images. (leaves the window frame to explain) [Every night, waiting for her, I cram my body into the window frame. might be Every night, waiting for her, I cram my body against the window frame.] But a play already has set up for the many images. The chaos of your “form” is a little much and doesn’t Enhance the flow of the writing. The basic rhyme you have already could be used with an adjustment to meter making the flow smooth. The subject is already jumbled enough Symbolizing the distraught nature of this soul. Would be interested in seeing a rewrite. Gloom |
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