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Of Violets and Violence by ~Cockmonger:iconCockmonger:

Categories Literature > Poetry > Human Nature > Free & Blank Verse


Words whisper down my spine today.
Down through my head; up through my toes;
leaking out my pores like sweat,
they drip down my skin and form a puddle at my feet.
I look down and realize:

I can't go back home.
I have no map
I have no compass
I have no ruby sneakers

As much as I will them the stars won't come out
to remind me of how small I really am.

The sky is too foggy, as though the stratosphere is made of
dying breaths.
The air so thick you could cut it with a sickle.

and I have nothing left to do,

but look back up face to face with the rain;
and the deluge of words, sweat and tears splatter on my cheeks.

I realize then, that falling from the sky is
my own
blood
my own
sweat
my own
words.

Then, it's gone, and the puddle dries;
the stars come out to greet me;

I am home.

And so, I wait for the next time.
©2009-2010 ~Cockmonger
:iconcockmonger:

Author's Comments

-fin- Brother essay to Of Vice and Virtue

Edited by MidnightDecember

Comments


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:iconmidnight-december:
=midnight-december Aug 30, 2009, 5:36:56 PM
i a have only a few suggestions. VERY good piece.

--
first the earth was flat, but it fattened up when we didn't fall off; now, we spin laps around the sun.
:iconcockmonger:
~Cockmonger Aug 30, 2009, 5:49:43 PM
Thanks! And suggestions? The weird thing is, the title of the piece came from your DA signature thingy. I was reading over the comments on an old peice, and i accidently read "violent" delights as "violet" delights, and the name popped into my head.
:iconmidnight-december:
=midnight-december Aug 31, 2009, 1:47:39 PM
here are my suggestions:

here, you say The sky is too foggy, as though the stratosphere is made of
the dying breaths of ill men.
The air so thick you could cut it with a sickle.

i feel that it might be a bit more powerful if you leave it at '...the stratosphere is made of dying breaths.'

also, i think maybe the second line there could be shortened to 'the air is too thick to cut,' or something to that effect; the word sickle throws me off.

then, here: Then, its gone. The puddle drys. The stars come out to greet me in congratulations.

I am home.

And so I wait for the next time.

FIRSTLY, IT'S SPELLED DRIES!

i think perhaps it could be something like 'then, it's gone, and the puddle dries; the stars come out to greet me, and i am home. and so i wait for the next time.'

mind you, these are merely my suggestions about what might help the poem flow better. love always, sam

--
first the earth was flat, but it fattened up when we didn't fall off; now, we spin laps around the sun.
:iconbecbecmuffin:
~becbecmuffin Aug 30, 2009, 3:28:28 PM
...wow...I'm...speechless...Every time I read a piece of yours, I am left utterly awed. :iconwuvplz: Good job.

--
Love,
A Racy Wallflower
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