I sit in the lonely slumber
Of my ill-informed mind,
And wonder to myself softly
If your talent will ever be mine.
The strings vibrate gently
Through the contours of my eyes;
Closed in contemplative fashion,
They make your lines alive.
You've created the perfection
That I can never hope to achieve;
I've become the very Gray I despise;
Caught the very same disease.
And with every note strung,
I fall a little more in love
With the stirrings of my heart
And the euphoria akin to drugs.
But my illusion is shattered by
The single resonance of your voice,
Filled with the pain and disgust
Of a bleeding heart, sticky and moist.
And I feverishly wish to feel
Again, that retching pain;
It must be easier to dispel than
The mental bullet lodged in my brain.
I can't tell you why they don't
Ever tell us how much love stings,
But I can tell you that pain
Is the reason your voice [and my heart] sing.
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ooo i can see you played around with some different vocab here (dispel, akin, etc..) i like it!! :)
ReplyDeleteyou've developed a nice character in your narration, which i find really interesting; we haven't seen much character in poems posted on here. so i quite enjoyed this different perspective. maybe make the pain that the character is referring to a little more clear? but i think that is my only suggestion.
"I sit in the lonely slumber
Of my ill-informed mind," <<< LOVE this.
you've also watched punctuation more with this piece. *thumbs up* goooood!
good job, this is a very effective piece, you set the mood quite well and the description you used was cool.
ReplyDeletegood job
keep up the good work