eclipse Posted July 30, 2011 Share Posted July 30, 2011 Was he the real angel of death- our tongues touched. Recently I haven't had much to eat-the power of his forked tail was such it split the moon apart and I felt myself fragment into bits-and I went with him to tattoo the dead in the devil's ink of red before he returned me to my dusty bed and into my arm I carved love love love. My blood isn't the colour promised-my tears are red my blood is black-the sun is black and the moon’s light I dread for it illuminates the dead. In her diary does my wife still bother to use my name? The internal echo is the same- her name ricochets. Some days eyes of a guard offer a reflection. I prayed to God and received silence so I recited the Lord's Prayer backwards, asking him to reverse the seasons to disturb my captors and capture the sly eye of an indifferent planet. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
David W. Parsley Posted July 31, 2011 Share Posted July 31, 2011 Well, you earned your name here, my friend. Ingenious progression of disturbing images and dreadful acts. Desperation's tour de force given language. I came away shaken. This may be the best work of yours, that I have read so far: same laser-like sustaining of keen emotion, but with richer context touching hope and the remnants of belief, a larger world to which the narrator may still return. - Dave Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
fdelano Posted July 31, 2011 Share Posted July 31, 2011 Was he the real angel of death-our tongues touched. Recently I haven't had much to eat-the power of his forked tail was such it split the moon apart and I felt myself fragment into bits-and I went with him to tattoo the dead in the devil's ink of red before he returned me to my dusty bed and into my arm I carved love love love. My blood isn't the colour promised-my tears are red my blood is black-the sun is black and the moon's light I dread for it illuminates the dead. In her diary does my wife still bother to use my name? The internal echo is the same- her name ricochets. Some days eyes of a guard offer a reflection. I prayed to God and received silence so I recited the Lord's Prayer backwards, asking him to reverse the seasons to disturb my captors and capture the sly eye of an indifferent planet. A mood piece, to me. Not in the usual way, but to allow the reader to feel th N's frustration, expecially with God and an indiffernt planet. Original but understandable. This line jumped at me: The internal echo is the same-her name ricochets. Thank you for letting us inside. Sorrowful, but with just a hint of absurdity. fdh Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Benjamin Posted July 31, 2011 Share Posted July 31, 2011 Stark imagery: exceeds much of that which I have read for some time in a first person narrative. “In her diary does my wife still bother to use my name?” are memorable words that for me, carry much weight within the context of your poem . Benjamin Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
tonyv Posted August 4, 2011 Share Posted August 4, 2011 I agree with others' astute remarks. This is one of your best. Tony Quote Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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