An Unconsious Poem

[Degorram]

Time is flowing forth in days,

treading down the dusty ways,

looking for something to say,

and coming up with nothing.

 

Peace is dancing past the guns

and tears its flesh and runs and runs,

but time can’t tell that Peace’s sons

are the children of disaster.

 

Fear is struggling with itself,

possessing dolls upon the shelf

and turning sinister the cheery elf

that children like to play with.

 

And time goes on, and Peace is wise,

and Fear is reaping a grander prize,

and all can’t see with their own eyes

that life at all is living.

[Wyvern]

I like this poem, Degorram. :-) The rhyme scheme works very well throughout it, and the concepts evoked through the language of the poem were often intriguing. I particularly liked the notion that Peace's sons are in fact the "children of disaster," as well as the way that you end the poem with none of the personified concepts being able to grasp life as a whole. As far as possible things to improve on go, the third stanza of the poem was not as strong as the others to me, partially because the syllable count in the third line of that stanza wasn't as smooth as the others and partially because the "elf" image felt a little odd to me since it was the only fantasy reference in the piece... you might consider revisiting that little segment of the poem should you ever choose to revise it.

 

Anyway, very nice poem Dego. :-) Thanks for sharing it here, as always!

[The Death of Rats]

watt in wander

ink stains hour

aye moor then

darkness bud

stare Incan too

the son four

watching awl

Thaddeus Will

all ways over

lode what good

halve bin

 

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The Grim Squaeker snaps tiny finger appreciatively.

[Harmonious_Echos]

Degorram, I really liked the poem too...I thought the rhythem was a little choppy, but it still worked well, probably better than I could do it! In any case, I see a lot of truth in the phrases "children of disaster", and the whole last stanza...I especially liked the part "all can't see with thier own eyes/that life at all is living". I've felt the frustration at humanity in general, that we so often take for granted the things which should be most precious to us, and lose sight of what life really means, in the rush and chaos of living.

Great poem!

*Harmony goes off to beat up her muse, to try to wake her up*