My First Real Poem

So this is my first poem I've ever really shown anybody. I'd really appreciate your feedback for what's going well and what could be improved.

I.

Seven baby geese,

Sweet and soft,

Guarded by two pillars

In love monogamous.

 

They glide through a puddle,

Blessed and provided by the rain.

The grace of God guards them,

Hides the concrete and nulls the pain.

 

Winged families know not of resentment,

That first human sin.

They will glow for eternity evermore,

A testament to love within.

 

Pink petals adorn this purity,

But I’m left alone to ponder,

I mourn my lost trouble,

So I will taint this pond no longer.

 

II.

Ripe berries:

Sweet, green, and real.

On the wall, their smell lingers.

 

No matter how hard I lash at them,

How desperately I claw,

These walls are my tormentors.

And again I limp away

With several broken fingers.

 

Hands hold hands,

Beloved beasts,

And other things that mattered.

 

All are gone,

Fell through the cracks,

My fingers are all shattered.

 

III.

I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life.

But these demons last so long,

Even after they’re gone,

And they cackle at my broken pinkie.

 

These demons,

They drive forklifts,

And they don lustful masks.

They slaughter the duckies,

And they destroy the geese.

They defile our little friends,

And they deprive me of appetite.

 

IV.

God’s torrent,

The torment,

that God-forsaken rain.

 

He floods my Earth,

Judgement evermore,

That cold and cleansing rain.

 

I drift in this massive deluge

All alone

As the trees return to debris.

 

I persist to stare back at God,

Rain blinding my eyes,

And I curse how he made us:

Consistently volatile.

 

Still, I pray that rain will cleanse me,

For then,

And only then,

I will be made whole.

 

Still, I pray that tyrant will fix me,

Then,

And only then,

My chest won’t have a hole.

 

V.

My pinkie hurts.

I clawed into the gaping maw of my chest

To discover what’s left.

 

My hand emerged.

It was sieged by leeches

And swollen by tumors.

 

My pinkie clenched,

A crimson tangle of tendon.

It was barbed in wire,

And ringed in roses.

 

My eyes flooded.

From that cavernous chest,

I found only tar.

 

But I suspect this isn’t it.

This isn’t my heart, after all.

I pray to know what it’s really made of.

 

God,

Don’t let me lose

My mind:

I pray to be forgiven and forgotten

Of you,

The trouble

I’ve left behind.

My Contributions:

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1ep436r/comment/lhirbpw/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1eoj35x/comment/lhisira/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button