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Open Poetry #7
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Our Sunday Clothes
| Open Poetry #7 |
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Our Sunday Clothes |
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Effigy Member
since 2000-04-11
Posts 486disbelief 
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I thought and it made me human. I felt and it made me cry. I saw and my heart ached. Now I know that we are not perfect. It has been said that nothing is. But I have touched you with eyes as pure as any child’s could ever be. I held you in a tight, comforting hold but it was short and only in my mind. We screamed when we were born, and cry when we die. Seems we are never quite happy to be where we are. But I am happy to be here. However I’d die to be there. I ran my hand down your face, it's cold, not at all like I remember. Your skin's kind of pale, it doesn’t have that glow it once radiated. Still... you looked very nice, lying there in your Sunday dress. They did a great job with your make up. I tried to speak but meaningless words came tumbling out. Your name permanently etched into my soul. I miss you and it makes my sad. I long to be with you. There seems so little left for me here. I’m tired. Baby, I'm coming for you. I feel no more. I think no less. I hold you tight. I looked so nice lying there in my Sunday suit. < !signature--> There is something inside me and I know it's good, but understanding is misunderstood. [This message has been edited by Effigy (edited 05-25-2000).] |
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| © Copyright 2000 wes wiggins - All Rights Reserved | |||
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netswan Senior Member
since 2000-03-28
Posts 1369Washington |
-Effigy - sweet poem of love and one of life's biggest tragedies ~netswan |
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Effigy Member
since 2000-04-11
Posts 486disbelief |
Thank you, but it is not intended as a tragedy.  |
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Boovoltz New Member
since 2000-04-19
Posts 8 |
How sad. It is amazing how stronge the bonds of love can be. You did a great job with this one. take care. |
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Kit McCallum
Administrator
Member Laureate
since 2000-04-30
Posts 14774Ontario, Canada |
Very thought-provoking Effigy, wonderful verse ... Best wishes, /Kit McCallum |
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forne_marin Member
since 2004-04-13
Posts 140Spartanburg, South Carolina |
rhythm rhythm rhythm rhythm. The poem lacks rhythm. What makes free verse poetry and not prose is rhythm. It's a good poem, if a little dark and sappy, but the rhythm is terrible. Break it up into stanzas, put some spacing elements into it. Emphasize your pauses some. *sigh* Okay. That done. The poem is a little sappy, and a little dark, but it does one thing VERY WELL--it's not until about halfway through the poem that you figure out the woman is dead. It's a very shocking moment and that comes through BEAUTIFULLY. |
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