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Prisms (Poetry)

Discussion in 'Literary Arts' started by Cordelia, Aug 12, 2013.

  1. Cordelia

    Cordelia Global Moderator
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    Prisms​
    These are the nights​
    When I wander into the chattering crowds of anonymity​
    And let the incessant sussuration wash me over​
    These are the nights​
    When I crave the twinkling of low lights and shadows to act as a balm​
    Against the dull ache of silence welling deep within me​
    Surround me with bustle​
    Numb me with sound​
    These are the nights​
    When the solitude I welcome becomes the prison I can't escape​
    Where reflection and need join as inmates against my will​
    These are the nights​
    When the blind and questing gazes of the throng perpetually miss​
    Me, though I sit center stage and watch their pantomime shows​
    Endless minds wandering​
    A finite loop​
    These are the nights​
    When my feet and heart lead me astray down paths I would never notice​
    To sights and sounds too meaningless to register as thought​
    These are the nights​
    When I am most alone in myself, and ever unable to find​
    The right words to set myself free from this broken prism​
    Refracted memories​
    Are not rainbows​
    These are the nights when I​
    Need words the most​
    But can't seem​
    To find​
    Them​
     
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  2. DovahKaal

    DovahKaal The Man in the Velvet Mask

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    Nice! Reminds me of Eliot's work.
     
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  3. Scarheart

    Scarheart "Eternity isn't forever."

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    When the solitude I welcome becomes the prison I can't escape
    Where reflection and need join as inmates against my will










    Your writing is amazing. If you ever publish a poetry book I would gladly purchase it.
     
  4. Cordelia

    Cordelia Global Moderator
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    ^__^ I had a poem published somewhere when I was in high school. I'm sure the poetry book is floating around still, but I never bothered buying a copy for myself. I almost never dabble in it these days, but I made an exception in this instance. Thank you so much for taking the time to comment, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.
     
  5. Matt

    Matt The Last Pen Fighter

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    Despite not being much of a poetry reader (poetry reminds me of abstract art, which is only good subjectively) I did enjoy this work. Most likely, it is because of the meaning I derived from the words. Whether it was your intention or not, as I read this I literally felt the loathsome emotions that hassle my conscious mind when the voice of my muse is silent. It is a remarkably rare experience for me, but when it happens I am usually troubled deeply.

    Thanks for posting this and allowing me several minutes of reflection.
     

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