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My Valentine

Valentines are tattered cards
their meaning once conveyed.
On white laced hearts with cupid's darts,
is someone's love displayed.

And hand to heart they're given up,
on one day of the year.
Then put away, re-read someday,
perhaps to draw a tear.

But mine's no heart with lace to fade,
or words just made to rhyme.
For it is real to touch and feel,
on days not Valentine.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
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?
Editing stage: 


I have been away for a little while (again, heehee) so this is the first poem of your's that I have read; I will have to make it a point to read the rest, because this one is good.
I am not a big fan of rhymes. However, in this case the rhyme and rythym that you develop fit very well with the subject matter. To tell you the truth, on the surface your poem reads just like another valentine card's simpering sentimentality, but of course it isn't really that at all, but is instead a quite powerful statement about how you really feel about the object of your desire. I find this powerful, and deceptively light, which only adds to the depth of feeling, imo.

There is notthing wrong with your poem at all, except for this:

"And hand to heart their given up,"

where I think perhaps the word 'their' should be 'they're', as in 'they are'?
But its very minor. This is a good one, and bookmarked.

Respectfully, Race

"Laws and Rules don't kill freedom: narrow-minded intolerance does" - Race-9togo

Thanks for the read and comments Jim. I can't believe I made such a silly error. I never noticed it until you pointed it out. Forrest and trees. Thanks again.


Gerald Walsh

author comment

With the alteration

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