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Predictable Fiction
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Predictable Fiction |
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Mephix New Member
since 2006-02-07
Posts 2 |
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 |
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| © Copyright 2006 Mephix - All Rights Reserved | |||
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[email protected] Junior Member
since 2006-02-07
Posts 17Los Angeles, CA |
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. |
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DavidTheLion Junior Member
since 2006-04-06
Posts 36 |
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? |
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MsSouthernOrchid Member
since 2003-07-12
Posts 192 |
Interesting. Makes one wonder how much is truly fiction. |
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