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Open Poetry #36
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Edward Grim
Senior Member
since 2005-12-18
Posts 1154
Greenville, South Carolina

0 posted 2006-01-03 05:51 PM



The Song Unfit to Sing


The splintered black veins
Trickled down the crippled paper.
Creating streams of meaningless words
That harmonized well with the emptiness in my heart.

Like the bone white walls
In this hell born heaven
I call home.
The barren white walls,
Like the ones in my soul.

The woe begotten brethren
Of canters lined up once again
Just to sing me a song.
And to hum it till no end.

The black splash of ink
Upon these white walls
Is only a song too sad to chant.
Writing that hinders me,
That bars me from this turbulent reality.
This heaven,
This hell,
This hindrance in my home.
It’s all me,
It’s all just…
A song of melodious melancholy.

© Copyright 2006 Edward Grant - All Rights Reserved
Nightshade
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Member Patricius
since 2001-08-31
Posts 13962
just out of reach
1 posted 2006-01-03 06:09 PM


Much enjoyed this very well written piece.
Chris

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
~Carl Sandburg

Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049
California
2 posted 2006-01-03 06:11 PM


But Edward...you sang it so well!  So much of poetry speaks of unhappiness and darkness of spirit.  I think you wrote that, and wrote it well!  Art cannot be good unless it's honest.  
loved_and_redeemed
Junior Member
since 2006-01-03
Posts 22
BC, Canada
3 posted 2006-01-03 07:25 PM


I loved the contrast of black and white, it made the words jump into reality.
Your words seem raw and I feel like I can relate to your frustratioin.
Beautiful

Enchantress
Member Empyrean
since 2001-08-14
Posts 35113
Canada eh.
4 posted 2006-01-03 07:31 PM


Wonderful imagery...much enjoyed the read.
Hugs~Nancy

In the midst of winter,
I found there lives within me..
An invincible summer.

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