A day waiting for a closure
Last night, all I did was
laying on bed and thinking how it was
how pleasant for someone to be here
how I call his name and he is near
but names are meant to shout out
to ease this agony and let it out
to scream till you drop your mouth
then realize the castle is empty, that's all about
The stairs are dusty the floor level is dark
the guard dog doesn't anymore bark
The bed is cold the sheets without a mark
The rooms closed empty, their handles are prints stark
Torches without lamps how can they light
the mansion's silhouette hides the sun bright
The birds chirping stopped in fright
from me who peeked from the window to enjoy the sight
I sat on the table to eat some cereal
it was golden bounded by white pureness, so ethereal
The taste was dull, rain pouring in a burial
puppets on the chair staring in a smile, are they even real?
The world unkind he keeps stealing
banishing me alone to consume my feeling
He's certain however he slices me I kept healing
by my cut heart's bleed my eyes wet wheeling
I took my hood ready to go on a hunt
then it struck me, why am I blunt?
there's no monsters, they went extinct
by my sword that reeks in blood scent
I went to the library to enjoy a book
he keeps me company, he doesn't mind how I look
I opened it, started to read, its language was gobbledygook
I was bored from any normality that my mind overlook
Why is the author cruel, why the lead has to suffer
I can hear his shriek in the silence by words subwoofer
He is not giving a hand, he is merely the journey debriefer
Yet to grasp joy he puts between him a magmatic aquifer
He finds in tragedy thrill, short gaps in happiness fill, is it bad!
he writes not to enjoy, but his thoughts has run mad
why in a worthless boring world he's constantly sad
The plum printing him on his character turning the story rad
Mesmerized by the journey, enjoying a coffee cup
I'm tired to stay awake, frightened to take a nap.
distinguish the writer between lines, communication build up
it's funny how with ceased to exist person I linked up
Out of reality, following an imagination, time runs fast
the sun disappeared, a multicolore layer on the sky was past
I missed the sunset, lunch, I only took breakfast
I ate and saw the scenery for eternity but today was the last
I went up, got out to the corridor
it was narrower, by antics it was stevedore
I'm in a little island far from shore
I launch the furniture in rage leaving the bandore
sat down on the edge, facing the wave
Playing my instrument, imagining a slave
made of wood, fire was his crave
to burn to ash he wasn't enough brave
~The fabric of the night holds the mind from fall
the dark layer of the sky folds on lonely souls call
the burning stars are mold in the eyes gaze's hole
the summer's day feels cold by the astray of a doll
The freezing sea floods inside the golden hall
"For what reason was I sold" It asks the ball
"For what the crafter has told, making a smile you shall,
accompany people on the mold, till you drop the pall"
The wooden sticks reach to fold , trying an answer to recall
"I have no facial features" in a scold "a smile can't befall".
"A strange ability you behold, to hear laughter and squall"
"I can feel no joy in this world, pain I sense is small
It's like I'm in a cave blindfold, by silence I'm appall
I want given answers manifold, before my skin root to scale"
"search in here for the marigold, petals scribbled by it all"
"They is no flower in the household" it splashed it on the wall
jumped with the ocean it interfold,she is sick of being thrall"~
What if it was wrong, I mean the folder's prophecy
And I sat on my knees, begging for the mercy
Of all the livings I've killed and cursing my idiocy
But for them to hunt I've burned their legacy
"Goddaaaaaamn!" The instrument's frame bend
Listening to my breath, it commenced the end
Remembering how little pleasant to feel heat near
To call someone's name and he doesn't leave, he stays here
"Death, finally!" he sat to my side and I said satisfactory
"Wanted to clarify the misunderstanding, I'm not death"
I called my sword "No one has to be alive in this world sorry"
the sword went past "I don't belong to it" he didn't fret
"Same face, who are you then?" the ground was gory
"all the years I died you were present beneath" I interpret
empty eyes to the horizon "I'm the one who wrote this story"
he never lies. "So you were him" I said in angry breath
"The one putting me through hell". "That was mandatory!"
he interrupted my scolding "You think I want that, you bet!"
"how can a writer not do as he wish, his mind is the factory!"
"I only planted the idea, it was you who dropped the palet"
"Is it okay revealing the truth!" his speech is supererogatory
"Of course, after all that's how the last chapter is set"
Posted Jul 3, 2023, 4:42 PM UTC · edited
This is quite a long poem, which is either way a big accomplishment! I love the pictures you paint. You do a good job at describing surroundings and things to me, especially with the line ‘the freezing sea floods inside a golden hall’. Also the description of the empty castle is quite detailed. Very beautiful!
The difficulty with a long poem however is to keep the reader interested and keep the quality the same everywhere. For me personally, this poem was a little too long and I think there were three reasons for this for me. Firstly, when I read it the first few times, I found it difficult to see how the metaphors within the poem relate to each other. I don’t think a poem needs to be understood the first time it is read, but it felt like there were 4 parts that had not much to do with each other. (1 Empty castle, 2 No monsters 3 reading a book, 3 Wooden stick having a combination with the maker). I think it could be easier to read if the themes were a little more connected with each other. Secondly, the rhyme varies throughout the poem. I don’t mean the rhyme scheme, I don’t mind the change to ABAB-etc. at the conversation. Most of your rhymes are the same style and really well done but sometimes you have some near-rhymes and rhymes that are so original that they come off as absurdist/funny to me. Like cereal - ethereal. This isn’t an issue on its own, but most of your poem has a more serious/fantasy style, and the tone shift takes me personally out of the poem. Thirdly, the internal rhythm/flow is hard to find to me. And clearer rhythm/flow could make the text easier to read and make it feel less long.
These points can make a poem more appealing in my view and are techniques you could experiment with if you want. I think this poem could also work well as poetic prose, but that’s a whole different thing entirely. But of course, it is a subjective matter and you know best what you want to achieve with your poem! Thank you for sharing!
It's the last chapter from a story and I chose to write it as a poem, that's why it is long and you can't understand the link between the themes. They are actually happening things not a metaphor except the song he sang using a bandore.
Oh, that's a very intriguing idea! It is probably more difficult for my opinion to be meaningful then, because I am missing context the reader is intended to know. But I adore the concept of writing the last chapter as a poem, good luck with further writing!