The Desecration of Dreams

Reflection after false acceptance.

7 years ago,

was I “Lucky Number 7”.

Foolishly, I thought,

with time, comes healing.

Closets once opened,

cleaned out, organized,

seemingly deciphered,

shut, and locked forever;

still intensely burst open;

only to allow the ugly faces

of the past to rear their sharp gazes,

in my direction.

When the rememory begins,

all I can do,

is tremble in the Fear.

Fear never imaginable,

until then.

When 7 years ago,

2 sets of piercing eyes,

were pleasantly entertained,

by the brutal murder,

of my innocence.

The mounted king

was victorious,

and gloriously celebrated,

and legends were made.

However, as the conquered,

I lost things too valuable.

The list of casualties,

is too disheartening and disturbing,

as nothing can be salvaged.

Pieces of the soul, thoughts, feelings;

all dead.

To think acceptance,

understanding, and regaining strength,

is possible;

is ignorance.

And I learned this,

as 7 years later,

that blood-soaked memory

wrapped tightly in razor-sharp barb wire,

still whips viciously,

craving scarlet gashes,

within me.

Author's Note

I'm looking for any and all criticisms. Please do contribute.

Reviews

[dieuxsansculte]

I'm not a professional writer, so take that into account when reading my critique. This is just my perceptions and feelings about what you wrote.

First, let me get the technicalities out of the way.

I think this would read much better if it was broken into stanzas. It has natural breaks that would lend itself to being divided up that way.

Near the end you describe barbed wire as being "razor sharp" which is somewhat a cliche. if you can find another way of describing it, something less commonly used, I think it would be better.

In the next to last line there's a typo "craving." It should be, I believe, "carving" although the typo does lend an interesting idea to the poem. Some people do crave the "carving" of the blade, but I don't get that impression from the rest of the poem.

As to the content, I feel the pain and fear of which you write. You've achieved what is, I think, the purpose of writing poetry. You conveyed the emotions you feel. And I can relate to the feeling of first being lucky and then feeling like I was being cut to ribbons inside. Even the" 7 years" part resonated. I have an old poem with that title, a looking back at 7 years from my own emotional trauma.

I really liked this piece. I hope the 80 rating isn't too low, but overall this was, I think, a good piece of writing.