Thank you so much <3
You are very kind

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Since you've commented on my work a few times I thought that it would be polite to check yours out, and I'm actually glad that I did. I enjoy the detached wording that you use a lot. I've always had a taste for that format.

Your first post is pretty impressive. I found it quite powerful and it's definitely something I'd like to hear the music to. I hate making comments that others have already made, but I'd like you to know that I enjoyed this one very much.

About Twisted, Cut, and Fire and Fuel:

You asked what was missing from the last one. Did you ever consider that they might all be parts to the same work? They flow into one another, and together they make a rather interesting story...

By re-organizing some of the words a little, it all comes together quite nicely...

- For example -

I think of you, my dear,
Often
When I am feeling low
And set about by fear,

Of your kind words
And the way you twisted mine.

You lay with her upon the floor
And whispered softly in her ear
And I couldn't tell you I . . .


(Cut)
Dont cut your lovely skin

I don’t want to see the tear
I don’t want to see the tear

Dont scratch beneath the surface

I don’t want to see the blood
I don’t want to see the truth

The fire knows no bounds
Burns the fuel that keeps it shining
Lovely at a distance
Hell within the core

Cut in little pieces
You know that you are nothing
And nothing ever changes
So you feed the fire more

Make a wish upon a star
It burns so cold it shines so far
Now your eyes reflect that light
Even in darkness you shine bright

Smell of smoky kindling
Sparks abound a gleeful surge
Burn the truth and hope and ending
And the world of evil purge

The sound is fading faster
As the lights grow faint and dim
You aren't afraid of after
But you're scared to death of him

Make a wish upon a star
It burns so cold it shines so far
Now your eyes reflect that light
Even in darkness you shine bright

I don’t want to see the tear
I don’t want to see the tear

I don’t want to see the blood

I don’t want to see the tear
I don’t want to see the tear

I don’t want to see the truth
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It's just an idea, and I hope you won't find it insulting that I played around with your work. But it seems that you wrote these in a similar mind state, and it shines through...

Take advantage of it. You've got talent. Let your mind wander and see what happens...

And keep in mind - nothing you ever write is ever finished. That's how I look at it anyway....

I've made some pretty fulfilling stuff by using this trick on some of my own work. It can be a lot of fun, and really cool too...

Thanks for sharing these. I'm glad that I stayed online long enough to read them. I'll definitely be back from time to time to see what else you've made...

These were really cool.

I really love your poetry. A lot.

Make a wish upon a star
It burns so cold it shines so far
Now your eyes reflect that light
Even in darkness you shine bright

I liked that part the most because it paints sich a vivid image without being all pretentious and wordy. I'd say "keep up the good work" but I'm sure you're going to do that anyway!

I think that one's excellent also... Especially the last stanza, the rhyme you use is very effective - it manages to add to the poem in such a way that is natural and sounds pleasing to the ear.

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Nameless, I don't find it insulting at all. You write much better than I can ever aspire to. I didn't ever think of combining those three, but it works out really well. I'm really flattered that you like my work.

And Darko, thank you also. I was actually pretty pleased with how that one turned out. Maybe there is something to sleep deprivation after all. I'm glad you liked it.

I haven't been writing as much poetry recently, more piano songs instead, but here's something I wrote. I haven't edited it, so it's a little rough at the edges. It was part of a huge rambling poem, but more cohesive I thought than the rest:

In my core
My vulnerable inner heart
A void, a nothing
My mind is full of sparks
I'm liable to explode
WHO AM I?

[. . .]

In my head is one string ringing
And he plays a song called crazy

[. . .]

How can I not see the faces in the water?
I can't close my eyes
I will not go blind
I will die before my time

Pain is my reward
My coin for eternity
I am not strong
I am not brave
I am not okay

You are a light
But the water is heavy
The water is hungry
She loves me
She wants me
Back to my native land
Down to the war-torn depths
The refugees

Where are my people?
Who am I?

Heat is a wave and it strips your skin
Crawls inside and dies
When you're deaf and blind
You're an island city
No one remembers who you are
And what you stand for

Over and over and over again
She is hungry

The water's turning red
I'm crying through my skin

I am a child
I am the HATE
Oblivion maybe tomorrow
Can't I say goodbye to you?
I'm too afraid

Why am I so afraid?
Why am I so stupid?
I want . . .

Who am I?

There's a glass wall between us
I can't pass
I can't pass through
I can't see you
Hysteria
Panic is my muse
A fire for a ruse

[. . .]

Hush desist no more words
The sun goes out I love you baby

It's a bit complicated to explain, but I was thinking about what suicide means and stuff in that vein. Not for any particular reason.

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Don’t dilute yourself with such ridiculous bullshit…

The quality of poetry and music is judged by the emotion that seeps through from the writer, to the reader. And you do that quite well. If you’re really 15, and you keep writing, there really is no telling how much your words will change. But the emotions that cause those words will never change; they are a constant for every human being. The more you explore these emotions inside yourself, the deeper and more fulfilling each piece that you write will become…


There’s no way of articulating how good it feels when I receive a complement from someone about my writing; it’s not only something that I am compelled to do, time and again, it’s something that is very personal to me as well. But I cannot accept a compliment that downgrades the person making it. We all have our own talents, and weaknesses. Which one of us has any right to say who is better? There’s no such thing. Everyone does write differently though, and that’s a blessing because it gives us all our own unique voice.


And I enjoyed listening to yours…


Anyway, moving on…


About your most recent post:

Quote:

Originally Posted by praetextus Why am I so afraid? Why am I so stupid? I want . . . Who am I?

I found the entirety of this poem interesting, but this is most defiantly my favorite part. I don’t usually pick parts, as some do; I like to comment on the piece as a whole. But this part has very complex undertones that I found especially interesting…


It very realistically mimics the train of human thought.


It was an excellent addition to your poem.

Okay. I'm back.

Thank you for that. Sometimes I need to just step back for a moment and realize that people might actually read what I post on here.

I am indeed fifteen, and I guess I have improved at writing, certainly from when I started in fourth grade. Some of the poems I wrote then, like this one:

Everything together
in harmony—
peace.

Birds chirp in the trees
near my pine grove,
unaware of the turmoil outside,

Stepping stones
across a river
who is murmuring secrets to me.

Quilting blue,
systematically piecing—
peace is quiet.

Everything reborn
in harmony—
peace

still appeal to me, but most are deeply embarrassing.

On that happy note, here's something *light* and cheerful 'Physikos' is Greek for natural and the precursor of our 'physics'. It fits the meter better.

Physikos, why must we give when we take?
Why can't we get something from nothing?
O Physikos, why must everything break?
Why does the world keep on changing?

Why can't we know all we want to?
Why can't we do what we want to?

O Physikos, why must all matter decay?
Why does the world have to work in this way?

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Bird:

You are soft and fragile
Like snow, like frost
So delicate on glass-panes and in air
The needle-trace of faded line
Sharp, exacting, crystalline
A budding branch in monochrome, aware

Execute the latest news
Fine-spun won't amuse
Broken, tattered, battered by the wind
You are sad and vulnerable
Like hands, like eyes
Butterflies
Sweep a silky sigh into the gloom
Faint trace of perfume

Whisper softly . . . aviation
Wisping gently . . . full gyration
Feather glides down tremulous . . . hesitant . . .

Unnamed Spider:

Myriad misdecisions
Miscommunications
Come to call too soon
Choices loom in place
The ground is moist, lies waste
Face the door ajar
So far
So far away

I am crawling upside down upon the ceiling
Dripping on my head instead of flipping back to real
I don't want to feel
Steal away spider
To your sticky den
Fen and fennel frame
The game
The game is done

Your Eyes:
I will write a song about your eyes
Not because they're beautiful
But just because I can
They're hazel
And open very wide
And I want to drive a nail
Oh God I want to drive a nail into

An empty pool of brown and black
No soul, no soul, a hole inside
Of bloodshot white and heart attack
And cold asphyxiation
I am sliced in little ribbons
By the violence of your gaze
And I wanted to, I wanted to
I want to get away

They say that eyes are windows to the heart
But you don't have a heart to see
Just a wall, an iron curtain
Counter strike for World War III
We'll go together, you and me
No more pain, just little shards
And clouds across the sun and one
And if you look into the fire
Your eyes are burned away
And what I'm trying to say is
I want to run, to run, to get away from

An empty pool of brown and black
No soul, no soul, a hole inside
Of bloodshot white and heart attack
And cold asphyxiation
I am sliced in little ribbons
By the violence of your gaze
And I wanted to, I wanted to
I want to get away

Dilation, penetration
Telescopic animation
Don't look back
Don't falter
I let it slip out of my
Mind, elation, insatiable
Go, vacation, can't you let me go
Blink, blink, blink, blink, blink—and let me go

I will write a song about your eyes
How they're lidless and focused
And tied to my back and I can't
Take this
I can't take this
You're tireless
Get a psychiatrist
Your confession
Of love—obsession
And they've crept into my dreams
I scream and try to hide, obscene, I see

An empty pool of brown and black
No soul, no soul, a hole inside
Of bloodshot white and heart attack
And cold asphyxiation
I am sliced in little ribbons
By the violence of your gaze
And I wanted to, I wanted to
I want to get away

My picture's on your bathroom wall
Just make it go away

November Dead:

Silent leaves cringe and crackle
No, before that
Keening trees stripped of leaves
Torn between the bleak blue sky
And bitter cold
Something is coming
Tears on a tomb
Expectant
Echo in the tortured trees
'Neath solitary sun

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