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The Hidden Hell In Me

Within my Muse’s back bedroom there stands a bed and chair,
A table and a lampstand – paper scattered everywhere.
And in the darkest corner, so as to be no eyesore,
There looms the shadowed outline of my Muse’s closet door.
Behind that door, wrapped up in night, fester my old regrets,
My pains, sorrows, bitternesses – that’s where it all collects.
So when, at night, my Muse unlocks and opens wide that door,
The messes of my twisted mind spill out across the floor.
The sticks and stones that broke my bones, the beasts that claw my heart,
The shards of unforgotten wrongs – each sharp and shattered part
Pour out to rage around the room, filling the air with screams,
Filling my Muse with bitterness that blights the brightest dreams.
And there, at night, in that back room, my Muse sits down to write
The rages, terrors, sorrows of my closet’s hidden night.
But ‘fore the sun rises, the beasts and sticks and shards and stones,
Are herded back into the dark with low and frightened moans.
For never could my Muse allow the waking world to see
This inner room of demons dance – the Hell hidden in me.
What terror would my family have, my friends, acquaintances,
If I opened the closet door to show my madnessess?
No, little door with darkened face all streak by blood and ink,
I will not ope’ you to the world, nor show them what I think.

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: 
It needs a lot of work. And I wish it were deeper.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

Excellent! What a poem! First, I was intrigued that your Muse has her/his/their own back bedroom. Very clever. I have the sense of a very independent physical being. So intriguing. I love the rawness in your language - I can't imagine it needing to get deeper, as you state in your last few words. To me, it really cuts to the core. I hear the screaming in the room, I feel the coldness and the discomfort. I feel the enormous need to get it all out, yet the fear of letting anyone see it all. Excellent, and I'm glad this poem shows what's behind the door - what needs to be spoken of so badly. I did trip a bit on "madnessess" at first. And then I thought it was perfect. (Is it a real word? If not, all the more fitting...)
If I had written this poem, I would sit back and re-read it several times. So much there to talk over with your Muse. Thank you for sharing!
Lavender

I am thrilled you enjoyed my poem so much! And I am not sure if 'madnessess' is a real word. XD I tend to do that with words like 'bitterness' and 'curiousness' by making them plural to add a sense of oddity and emphasis. Maybe I should just make a whole new dictionary . . .
Haha, I actually did sit back and reread it several times! That's why I said "I wish this could be deeper" because that's the only thing which bothered me about it. Oh well. Thank you for your comment!
~

"To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's true aim." Oscar Wilde

author comment

The theme is a truly great one and I begin to understand where this is coming from. I am considered by my family to be the head of the Black Sheep as I am the first-born. [My family are all black sheep, just of various tones]. So, I am rarely called to task for my transgressions, and indeed, am often lauded for them. LoL
I am willing to bet that, in your family, you would be designated as the wolf in sheep's clothing! Shhhhh, I won't tell.
That being said; I will move on to your poem and the lapses of meter:

Within my muse's bedroom, there stands a bed and chair
A table and a lampstand - paper scattered everywhere
And in the darkest corner, [a dimly lit eyesore]
There looms the shadowed outline of my Muse's closet door

Behind that door, wrapped up in night, fester my regrets
My pains, sorrows, bitterness - that's where it all collects
So when at night, my Muse unlocks and opens wide that door
The messes of my twisted mind, spill out across the floor

The sticks and stones that [break] my bones, the beasts that claw my heart
The shards of unforgotten wrongs - each sharp and shattered part
Pour out to rage around the room, and [fill] the air with screams
Filling my Muse with bitterness that blights the brightest dreams

And there at night, in that back room, my Muse sits down to write
The rages, terrors, [and] sorrows of my closet's hidden night
But 'fore the sun rises, the beasts and sticks and stones
Are herded back into the dark with low and frightened moans

For never could my Muse allow, the waking world to see
This inner room of demon's dance - the Hell [it is] for me
What terror would my family have, my friends, aquaintances
If I opened [up that] closet door, to show my maddenness?

No, little door with darkened face, all streaked [with bloody] ink
I will not ope' you to the world, nor show them what I think

I do not think that you could get much deeper than this. I love it!
~ Geez.
.

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Thank you so much for your critique! It has vastly helped, and while I disagree that the poem could be deeper (have to beat myself up somehow ;D) your help with meter has been a life-saver. And I love how you separated it into verses! :O I will be adopting many of your suggestions when I make my final edit.
Thank you!
Ha, well yes, I would be the wolf in sheep's clothing. I have a really good family, but the darkness of my Muse sometimes startles my parents exceedingly. I've learned to hide her well (and is it not fortunate none of my family can stand poetry? XD I have an outlet . . .)
~

"To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's true aim." Oscar Wilde

author comment

to have been able to help! I really thought that separating it into verses, helps to set each thought apart and make it visible.
Truly, it may be a great thing that your family doesn't care for poetry and you can let your muse out, to let her hair down. I am fortunate that my family likes my poetry, but outside of the odd poem written about my early life [The East Main St. series], or the occasional poem for a birthday/ holiday, they aren't much interested. Of course, my mother would never understand about "Killer" so I never let her see his works. [My mom is 94 and one of the sweetest, tenderest-hearted people you would ever meet], and would not like the violence. We [Killer and I ] have our fans and that suffices. So, bring out your Muse and let her run wild here, she is safe from prosecution and welcome. ~ Geez.
.

Our Chatroom is open 24/7 Feel free to use it for
keeping in touch We have poets around the world and it is fun
to have real-time conversations with those that are up
all night or on the other side of the world.
.

Your imagery is outstanding, I felt as though I was in the room, waiting for your muse to jump out at me. I love that she is dark, we all have that muse within us it's just a gift if we can show it as I have seen in this magnificent poem. It's really been a pleasure to read this. Let her out, be free to air the darkness, it's fabulous.

Thank you...Teddy

for your kind comment. I am so glad you enjoyed my poem, and yes, the Muse can very often be dark. Only sometimes does she put on her lighter aspect, but shadows are easier to make than rays. You might say I have a lazy muse who never actually cleans out that closet. XD
~

"To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's true aim." Oscar Wilde

author comment

Your title as just perfect. It brings the theme so well.

Thank you...Teddy

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