a black heart does not exist in someone who can write like this...darkened...overshadowed...in eclipse perhaps but never black...we cannot hope to succeed until we first learn how to fail...for it is the pain of our mistakes that scar or calcify as foundations for as ultimate a growth as we can ever hope in one lifetime...if we survive the beasts...then we become kings and queens...as always...enjoyed your skill...
Mistakes... the building blocks of our personalities, it seems at times... this is bittersweet writing, as you point out... the imagery is almost wistful in a way. Life is often like that... we reflect on past times because the present is lacking what we left behind, and future looks a lonely place without it. Wonderfully written...
the 5th and 7th stanza are breathtaking...
a very heartfelt story... really, this poem is a very detailed story.
Very honest and authentic
beautiful and unique way of writing
you're always shining ^^ i adore it :)
This is more than a poem. This is a story filled with sedulous detail that makes me feel as if I am there in the rain with you. Though you speak with a moroseness for what happened, your words hold so much magic and beauty. I sense a drip of hope subliminally, though you don't say it. Terrific storytelling.
The sense of jagged intimacy and paradox is vivid. "Mistakes" or "black heart" is questionable -- more like unqualifiable LIFE in all its strange tumbledown mystery and haunting evanescence.
This poem trumpets the edgy mad passionate journey of life itself being its fundamental point. Living, loving, remembering, feeling, wondering. . .
An oblique reference pops into my head: "My music's based on the mistakes," said Bob Dylan.
the rain fell, washing away all the masks and all the pretensions and when all was said and done, away down the beach he walked... But moving down the beach another castle you should build with another king to sit next to you. Sand castles made of time, eternity played out in waves.
It's always such a pleasure to read your poems because of the feelings you leave the reader. (Meaning me, ha) I could picture the whole scene and that bittersweet memory you speak of. Odd how some memories are like little deaths. Whether good or bad, we can never get them back and I guess sometimes thats the sad part. We win some, we lose some. Guess that's how we learn. Loved it.
Hello :)
My name is Desiree.
What brings me to this website is my love for poetry and storytelling. At this time I consider myself more of a poet, than a writer or author.
I do not have the pa.. more..