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Round and Round and Round.

Tie yourself up in knots again, then
crouch behind some cowards stone;
shivering.

He is;
fear turn despair turn apathy
turn beautiful nonchalance.

Pharmaceutical induced daydreams
of soft rain in France.
Windowside, in bed.
Biscuits and hot tea.

And white-coats speak bluntly,
"you can't outrun a shade of grey."
But I can't see the sparkle in $100 bills
I think that's a factor too.

In quaratntine.

The quarantine of distance as pixellated, optimally made, partial-life-suicide screens
hold all eyes with a silver glint.

This life;
a foreign language experience
destined to end up,
incomprehensible.

It's the last leaf of Autumn
surrounded by branches with its friends in the snow
just waiting to rot.

Time, so far, has simply failed,
to inspire.

And the world keeps turning,
round and round and round.

Lock the doors, close the blinds,
Click. Black.
Dream.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
This poem is about the self-imposed isolation and subsequent self-loathing of someone in a depressive episode. He can only escape this in dreams. It's also a comment on a societal isolation through our cell phones, and how someone incongruent with this system can also experience that same sense of loneliness. Thanks heaps for giving it a read. N.
Editing stage: 

Comments

your work, I went to read your last word, where I found a good, comprehensible explanation of what I had read. Now I have a greater appreciation of this work. Thanks for the explanation and the fore-sight in realizing that the reader may not know what you intended. ~ Geezer,
,

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It has nice pace, mix of feelings and intellectual paradox. I cut out this after two readings, and i think it works better without it

In quaratntine. (misspelled typo correct below))

The quarantine of distance as pixellated, optimally made, partial-life-suicide screens
hold all eyes with a silver glint.

I don't think the image is "covered" by the other aspects as is too abstract for me to get the feeling of it. But the other entries- fear, autumn, foreign language etc have a nice poetic logic. Love the fast image of "soft rain in France" to paint a picture with few words.

The poem also reminded me of an old favorite song by Joni Mitchell which unlike most lyrics works as a poem. Circle Game:

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

Thanks for your poem, good read.

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

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