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A way back home

Seems like this journey won't end,
And I would keep walking in a circle.
Sometimes I like to pretend-
I'm invisible,
And all I speak is in whispers.
The summer calls me,
As I await my pardon.
I was told I could be-
Whatever I wish to be,
And life has just begun.
How slowly the memories fade,
And we want an escape.
I always feel I was there before,
In the yesterday,
Now I see that place no more.
And what are the miles worth for,
When you can't find your way back.

A clock painted in black,
Stares at me-
Begs me to find my own.
To give up all I have,
And find me-
A way back home.

As I breathe and consume,
More I lose who I am.
I watch the sand slipping away,
From where I stand.
Been so long,
And I haven't said it all.
Waiting for a door to open,
I keep staring at the walls.
I wish I knew how to fly,
Before it was my turn to fall.
And no one can hear my tears,
No matter how much I call.
Never got the chance to apologize,
I wish I knew to be better.
Still remember those eyes,
It's been so long since I met her.
When was this tomorrow,
That promised me my belonging.
Nothing remains of my story,
And I keep walking.

A clock painted in black,
Stares at me-
Begs me to find my own.
To give up all I have,
And find me-
A way back home.

Everything has changed,
And that season will never return.
Been through so many rains,
Now my eyes are hurt by the sun.
I crave a storm that blurs,
And intoxicates me with more lies.
I had so many chances,
But I could never say a good -bye.
Their longing still howls,
And it get's a little dark in my ruins.
Never knew how to taste the night,
Now I chase the moon.
Silence haunts me evermore,
And I struggle to shut everything out.
Shards and pieces circling me,
Scarring me as I burn and shout.
Comfort of the old arms,
Make me realize how cold the world is.
How is he doing,
I've forgotten the face of his.
Slipping back in the lost time,
I close my eyes as I touch the ground.
I can be who ever I want to be,
No one is around.

As I take a step back,
I realize-
I've never been so alone.
As i remember what I had,
My eyes-
Search for way back home.

A clock painted in black,
Stares at me-
Begs me to find my own.
To give up all I have,
And find me-
A way back home.

Editing stage: 

Comments

I loved this piece it tells a story so well, and suited to our epic poems.
Loved the description of your journey and then the real words of you have to find your own way in all things, maybe the clock face is painted black as there is no time.
There must be more to this piece as I feel there is another part to your story if only you look with your inner feelings,
Yours Ian.T

.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

I also felt I wasn't more open about my feelings, I layer them with other themes. I will keep your suggestion in consideration and try to be more open the next time.

.
.
[ never fall in love with your imagination,
A face that isn't real.
A seed of your desires and dreams,
A seed that'll never be a tree. ]

author comment

this is interesting. I will admit I didn't like the beginning much, but it definitely grew on me as I read it and the story unraveled. I find it kind of quirky that the meter doesn't always exactly match up; but I think I like it! i also really like the repetition of the second stanza, it gives it a kind of song like quality. my suggestion for this one would be to cut down on the use of punctuation, but other than that you're golden :) a very unique epic.

mag

I loved your review, it was honest. I started this piece as a song only that's why there are so many punctuations along and I guess it makes it more hard to flow smoothly. I will keep your suggestions in mind, thank you again.

.
.
[ never fall in love with your imagination,
A face that isn't real.
A seed of your desires and dreams,
A seed that'll never be a tree. ]

author comment

Here goes:
I don't like Verso Libre (free verse). Something seems to be lacking in its language, but I must always take the moment and address a free verse piece that was able to move me with its poetry.
This is excellent. Evocative, poetic... generally moving (okay, a little down, but you should read mine).
Anyway. Verso Libre. Excellent.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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