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At Dusk with Melancholy and Sorrow

We've come to that time of day when I ask
the questions I know will be forgotten
and I listen to the syllables of
your discontent as they puddle into
the space we've built between our severed lives.

And I am awestruck that the inertia
of our tired misery has kept us here
while happiness and bliss and every good
thing dances in our vision and softly
whispers its promises of contentment.

There is no surprise at your reaction
when I seek some small amount of comfort
with people who do not cultivate hate
or take pleasure in creating despair
or just merely enjoy my company.

And as the years slipped into a future
where I smiled more and anguished so much less
the unfounded accusations became
so commonplace and the threats so welcome
that your departure was a thing of joy.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
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?
Last few words: 
This is pentameter blank verse with an intended five line stanza.
Editing stage: 


I liked this theme, it shows how some hold onto nothing yet can still smile and grit their teeth when happiness is scattered before their feet.
Friends shunned, a way of hiding feelings, I so hope this is fiction but cannot see this being written so by anyone, other than the first person.
There are two roads here that we travel, one of the day to day mundane incessant chatter of sparrows or the other where in your mind you can hear the glorious dawn chorus.
That your mind is strong enough to choose is good.
Take care out there, the roads may split and leave you with a better choice,
Yours Ian.T

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

and this especially. It is not schadenfreude, rather a complicity in vulnerability.
If I may offer my reading?

New Workshop!-
Critique For New And Old

That was very well read.


Jonathan Moore

author comment

the typewriter secured to the ankles
the steady traffic a whirr
a blurr

and the night filled with stars
and bliss
like a watery world
a waiting rest of tomb

this poem doesnt shatter
like rust never sleeps

there is agony
anguish and great love
in loss

majestic losers
so the winners
may perish
in their triumph
and fade

like trumpets
at the gates

the ruin of love

Thank you.


Jonathan Moore

author comment
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