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Submitted by obyno on 7 October 2008 - 5:27am.| Updated 7 October 2008 - 6:28am.
Style / Type:
Western Classic
My dear, in your arms, worries cease to be
And satisfaction unequalled abounds
The rising sun which duties sets for me
Even can’t rouse me from these lovely mounds
From ages long problems have patterned man
Aspect of nature which regenerates
The vaults of nature to his eyes are ban
His gains, and loss, merely fuelling his hates
I turn my back on these and see your face
A sun that does no difficulty show
For you, the prize, I partake in no race
Since you are mine and, I in you, we grow
Let man kill man and glow in bloody feast
We will not know since we don’t here exist
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?
Obyno
All in all a very respectable poem. I have taken the liberty of showing you some changes in a part of it which seem to be confusing to me and which my clarify the meaning. Use or discard them as you will. They are only suggestions. Good one that with a little work could become even better.
From ages long problems have patterned man
(From ages long past problems have patterned man)
Aspect of nature which regenerates
(Aspects of nature which always regenerate)
(perhaps a break here)
The vaults of nature to his eyes are ban
(The vaults of nature to his eyes are banned)
His gains, and loss, merely fuelling his hates
(His gains and losses merely fuel his hates)
Respectfully,
Rett:
“We can all be thankful that Picasso wasn’t a plastic surgeon.” Rett