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Ahhhhhh... [ Horror Worshop ]

Silver clouds of lightning
Light up the dirty sky
Shadows hide what's frightening
To a superstitious eye

Hidden in the dark place
Where no one wants to go
Is a scary, scowling face
And thoughts you'll never know

Young Killers' brother suffered much
Before he died abused
He saw his fathers' manic-touch
His brother being used

Killer hid in the darkest place
Too young to help his bro
He saw things before his face
Stuff he didn't want to know

He ran from home and made his way
Vowing to return
He'd come back again someday
When it's daddy's turn

Too late; when Killer finally came
To pay the debt he owed
He never made his sire feel pain
Daddy's heart and soul were cold

Killer couldn't change the yesterday
But vengeance he would own
All bad men would die; his way
Now that he was grown

He likes to slash and maim it seems
Before he does the deed
He cuts short their fondest dreams
Killer has a need

The shining knife cuts meat from bone
It goes into his sack
So sharp, so sharp, the knife is honed
He sheathes it on his back

Blood flows to the sewer drain
Down below the floor
This body's cold, it feels no pain
Asleep beneath the gore

He pictures scenes of screaming lips
Bulging eyes and faces
Dismembered limbs, empty hips
As agony left its' traces

Eyes aglow with such awful pain
While these bodies shrank and died
Each cut remembered once again
So sweet he almost cries

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 

Comments

this is as good as what I first wrote and lost, but I will come back to it again after I hear what you all have to say.

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the land of before..
small town..different times
the brutality savagery indescriminant
animalism was very much
all about us like storms

Many I knew went through much
and many joined powerful things
to avenge that of which they once
were helpless too

sometimes becoming the very thing
they hated but understanding through
the walk more to appease the Revenge
of that taste of helplessness and hate
they felt...or nothing..

excellent poem
this one works for me very well Geezer
I can relate to the character

thank U!

for letting me know that you understand where Killer is coming from. Yes, he is a Killer, but soothes his psyche by believing that he has the right and duty to do as he does because he is ridding the world of some very bad people; therefore, sparing others from the evil of these monsters. I'm glad that this is clear, because that is part of this workshop. To let the reader know who killer is and why.
As always, ~ Gee

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After a quick first read I noticed the last line of the second stanza reads choppy maybe say ?

And thoughts you'll never know

But the rest reads sublimely its a wonderful poem Gee your chasing the tails of a true great if you don't get published I'll eat all my hats

Bravo

Much l love Sistergirl xxx lol

("Always and Forever") - (Never lose a holy curiosity.-Albert Einstein)

I agree that that line should read as you have said. I will change it. I will work harder at getting Killer's stuff together and getting it edited. I would love to be a published poet and join the elect company of those here at Neo! I think that maybe this poem should be the first in line to bring Killer to light for the reader. Thank you Sis, for all the confidence in us. Love and higgest bugs, always~ Gee.

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All I could see was that Killer lost touch with the story somewhere. The hate was great the Father must suffer or a bigger part for the Father figure.
Must let Digit know and arrange another beach party or something like that he said it was a highlight on his USA journey, lol
Yours Ian..

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Unconditional love to you all.
"Learn to love yourself first"
Yours as always, Ian.T, Sparrow, and Yenti

that there needs to be much more said about Killer's father and what he did. I believe that the reader will understand that he was responsible for the brother's death and that Killer blamed him.
A beach party would be great! It is certainly the season for it! Tell Digit that he is welcome anytime and that maybe we could fit in a car show! We would love to show him how we spend our weekends
during the summer. ~ Gee

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I know you are not so happy with this. I am late to the workshop but I am trying to give everyone at least a quick read.
I know you can do better but I wanted to say that this stanza caught my attention with its consonance and rich imagery

He pictures scenes of screaming lips
Bulging eyes and faces
Dismembered limbs, empty hips
As agony left its' traces

Thanks for sharing

❤❤❤❤❤❤

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words
........Robert Frost☺

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that I am not as happy with it as I was with the first draft. I am more comfortable with it now, than at first. Sometimes you just can't recapture the moment and glory of something lost, but I feel that I have done this one as well as I could without that magic moment. Thanks for the read and btw, I think that stanza is my favorite too! I know it is Killers' ~ Gee

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You should be happy with your work Gee. I would suggest adding some sounds or any of the many other elements that might indicate horror, but I see it is a polished version already.

❤❤❤❤❤❤

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words
........Robert Frost☺

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see what I might be able to do! A good suggestion! Thanks, ~ Gee

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think in poetic terms if I don't have pen, paper, computer, something to record it with because sure as I'm an idiot I'll think of something freaking profound and never have the chance to remember it.
Oh sure, memorize it... been there, failed that. Break off from what you're doing and beg people for a pen and scratch... embarrassing.
It's horrifying to lose something that was good.

I agree with Esker that one of the best aspects of the poem is its gentle flow.
One of the highest compliments I can give is that it reads like a modern comic book.
Killer's origin is long overdue.

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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have it written on my comp. but, after I tried to edit and send it to Neo. somewhere along the line, it got erased and I couldn't get it back! I'm sure that it was an error on my part and I've lost other stuff that way. Maybe now, I will learn to preserve it on an external memory, before trying to do anything else with it. That is a very high compliment indeed, to compare it to a modern comic-book! Thank you! I think I did hint at his origin somewhere else along the line, but not sure where. I will have to look for it. thanks again, ~ Gee

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