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Little Brother

Another one lost
One more family, one more friend
But it's me who pays the cost
Although they've reached the bitter end

As the hounds of hell
Lick death
From the souls of my shoes

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 

Comments

Long time no seen. Hope all is well
A sad little piece. Has it anything to do with your absense?

I thought the last line a bit confusing though I got 5he overall message.

❤❤❤❤❤❤

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

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No ma'am. Just haven't been able to eight

Scott

author comment

this is heavy. True?
The poem is powerful and well structured despite the liberties in meter.
Where have you been, may I ask?

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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It's true. Sucks, but it's true. I have been struggling to write

Scott

author comment

this is heavy. True?
The poem is powerful and well structured despite the liberties in meter.
Where have you been, may I ask?

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

Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
http://www.neopoet.com/mentor/about

fifteen times now I count almost being hit by cars..
seven going over thirty and above
one suv and a flatbed box dualies
one a friend grabbed my arm
extra time on the meter

we want to write a poem about A
poem about C
i try to write poems about B
beause I know barely much
about B
its voice....its character
like sticking your head
up to make a run in sniperland
of doubts
my keyboards are chords of
madness in an organ of the
cathedral of agony
words pressed into sound
in my head
like hail on the greenhouse
and tin driving shed

....

yah....and all parents gone...not all peaceful in sleep
and i drive people away but I keep on trucking
I keep on writing
like drumsticks on hudcaps and plastic buckets
trash lids....sooner or later a beats gonna happen
someones gonna grab em and either break em
on you...or show you a simple start to build....

poetry to me is music...sometimes
poetry is pain...so I know I do feel
I think...

where are the box of yard sale treasures
the wind up joy buzzers to shake the
glib...the juicy fruit spring snap suprise
xray specs

I was hammering steel today...cutting pipe
sections...softening the edges with a
hammer...run my thumb about it like
I know its gonna be alll perfect...
slit my thumb open ..true story
just kept on working...scrubbed it down
sprayed it with the good salvation spray
to make it good...didnt give up
didnt lose hope
the light stayed on

everyones got poetry in em
a story
i wrote shit for years
some say I still do
but I dont care

robert johnson
billie holiday
tom waits
they kept picking it
up and laying it down

I like your works
you can feel the strain in
it......

Good to hear from you, sir. Looking fitted to the time when I can get back here and read your work on a regular basis again.

Scott

author comment
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