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At Crossroads
Meet me at the center of my dream, at the juxtaposition of time and moment, at the confluence point of my endeavours.
I met a chuckling stranger once, a score ago, by the entrance of the streets at the rustling of childhood fantasies. "What way are you headed my child" ? I sneered at his decision to stay blind to the apparentness of my direction. Still, reluctantly I pointed at a path, I saw him smile as he shook his head and I was irritated by the abrupt end of his expressions.
Stranger from my past, O snickering stranger from childhood! You did not foretell the mirage of this boulevard I walk. You did not tell till I became the lone wanderer haunted by uncertainties, knawed by a fated knowledge.
There are no surveyed roads to the distant horizons. Every man has in hand, a machete to clear his paths in the forests of obstacles. Sharpen mine Lord that I may prevail over sharp stumps of the mocking earth.
Style / type:
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity):
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction):
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?
[This option has been removed]
Editing stage:
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Comments
IRiz
Tue, 2018-09-04 10:34
"sharp stumps of the mocking
"sharp stumps of the mocking earth" I love these words
i would take out distant horizons
it is a great poem, i love it
i have a question about this line " the abrupt end of his expressions"
i am not sure what you mean there
IRiz
Eumolpus
Fri, 2018-09-07 00:55
a much more focused work
some of the images are stunning, some of the language a bit stilted. As people often rewrite others' poem on this site with their take, allow me to give it a try. This is only made for the suggestion, and I find when others do it for me is very interesting and helps me see it a new way.
Meet me at the center of my dream, at the juxtaposition of a time and moment.
I met a stranger once, a long time ago, by the entrance of the streets with the rustling of childhood fantasies. "What way are you heading my child?" Reluctantly I pointed at a path, I saw him laugh as he shook his head. I sneered and went my way, irritated by his abruptness.
Stranger from my past, O snickering stranger from childhood! You did not foretell the mirage of this boulevard I walk. You did not tell until I became a lone wanderer haunted by uncertainties, knawed by a fated knowledge:
There are no roads to the distant horizons. Every man has in hand, a machete to clear his paths in the forests of obstacles. Meet me at the center of my dream, that I may prevail over sharp stumps of the mocking earth.
I tried to put a poetic logic or narrative into the text, not a story that goes A to B but something more A to B to A. You open the idea..."Meet me at the..." so you are inviting the reader in. Then you tell a story, then revelations from the story, then end with what this story taught you. (bringing in the Lord has no real place here.) I tried to give the poem shape.
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My take
...
Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings
Holmes
Sun, 2018-09-09 18:09
I appreciate this, your
I appreciate this, your editing made me see it from another point
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