They Came Down from the Sky

I scribbled this down during a burst of thought. I havn't changed a single syllable from how I wrote it down. I thought it would be fun to see what you could come up with in terms of fixing it up.

And that day I decided

There wasn’t anyone coming for me

No one to,

Intervene

 

And I wasn’t going to fight them anymore

The Whisperers

 

And so I started to listen

And as the world grows older

I have stayed the same

But I could feel it

Feel it, in my skin

Just below the surface

Bleeding through

 

Until they came down

And wiped it all away.

And if only I had reached a little farther

If only I had listened

But here I am now

Waiting for their return

 

And I can still hear them whispering

And it’s dirty little things

And things we take on faith

And things we’ve always known were there

 

And as I fall into a sleep

I dreamed a sigh of my relief

It was all just"

In my head

They would never find me here

 

I’m sinking away

And its all just

A slow and violent process (decline)

 

And as the world turns pale and grey

And it all begins to fade away

I look to the sky at the descending light

They have found me here

 

And looking through the blinding white

I begin to see a face

He stood there

In front of me

 

And beside him were two men

Whose composer was that of a blinding light

And they each reached their hand on his shoulder

And in union they spoke through him.

 

“You can never get away”

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

Nice poem

[Emily B]

it feels very much like a terrible dream

[.]

You overuse the word 'and' - it simply doesn't need to be used in most cases..other than that it's good..

[deeps]

A slow and violent process (decline)

I was wondering what the (decline) stood for.
I love this though. Alot of emotion entertwined.

[Angela Mulley]

I like it, well done. When I read it out, it sounded good, and quite scary at the end.

[Emily Quinn]

writing that just hits us and flows from our pens through seeming subconcious is writing in its purest form, don't change one single word. its true art this way, writing without rules, or reason, writing created not to impress but because it was there in the writer just waiting. Whoever decided poems should follow certain guidelines and structure was completely crazy, writing that comes without edit is like an abstract painting only with words instead of brush strokes. Its a good poem by the way, mysterious

[Saturn's Lover]

I like it. I like how it just kind of flowed right from your mind onto the paper.

[Iota]

for some reason this poem reminds me of writing, it is like inspiration, you either grab it and use it as it is happening or you lose it forever. How many poems escaped us because we never wrote them down as they unfolded in our minds? I like this poem it seems inspirational in its creation.

[PaperHearts]

I really liked this! I personally loved the fact that you published this in the exact form that you first wrote it, because when I was reading it, I could feel the raw and direct emotion behind your words. Your storyline really captivated me, and I thought that the last line was an amazing way to end the piece. Don't change a single thing. :)
~PaperHearts

[Charles]

Your challenge: see what you come up with.

My response: (I couldn't get the thing centered, so I indented here and there best as I could): * OK, it won't center at all, so use your imagination *

The Whisperers

As the world grew older
I stayed the same
I could feel it
feel it, in my skin
just below the surface
bleeding through
until they came
and wiped it all away

If only I had reached a little further
had listened
but here I am now
waiting for their return

I hear them whispering
dirty little things
things I take on faith
things I’ve always known

then I fall into another sleep
and dream a sigh of relief
it was all
in my head
they would never find me here

Yet I’m sinking
a slow and violent process
while the world turns pale and grey
and the descending light
tells me that they have found me here

I look again and see a face
He is there
in front of me
and beside him are two men
whose composure is the blinding light

they each rest a hand on his shoulder
and in unison they speak
through him.

“You can never get away”