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Submitted by marredpoet on 18 August 2008 - 6:35am.
Style / Type:
freeform
The sky has turned to a bloody mess
its father, the Sun, has left its trail.
From crimson spills to blood-red dress
the horizon begins to faint.
Silvery clouds and orange rays
make up the skyline pallette.
These are the colors of everydays.
These are the hues of his sonnet.
Within those days, there’s toil to budge
and this villian tries to effort.
He cries out a shady sludge
from his miniscule eyes to his prey it diverts.
And so with that, it thrives to lure
virgin eyes and fanatics
as it gives out love so pure
and drives away all heretics.
Then I reveal, that it is a pen
that cries out ink
and from its tip it spits, then,
leaves its tears in paper with every blink.
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Hope you enjoy it. Leave you comments please. I'd appreciate it. :)
