Rain bellowed down upon me, slowly clotting
its way through the fabric of my clothing. Causing it to grow heavy like the
weight that had for so long found refuge upon my weary shoulders. I tried with
all conceivable sections and pathways of my mind to forget a pain so profound
and durable that it had shaped its way into something tangible, something with
a texture and a frame.
A pain only comparable to that of losing my lover to the
cold grip of death’s warm embrace, but magnified by the realisation that I chose
this burden. The shivers that formed from the depth of my soul, upon
these thoughts, gestured me handily back to my senses. Allowing me to regain
sight of my surroundings.
The night sky was lit with the broken remnants of a fragile masquerade
of the stars’ luminescent foreplay. Which now only serves as a reminder of the
former insignificance to the universe for which I now long. The mask of a
noticeably bleak and dull expression clung with a bitter hand to the earth,
filling this tragic dawn with a frequency of sorrow too low to consciously
account for. The trees stood lonesome and forced themselves to impose a sharp
feeling of desperation and creeping panic. Hollow tombs wrapped lightly with
thick velvet sheets that seemed as if to mock my every attempt to thin the
atmosphere. Despite my fears I forced myself onward deeper into this
garden of the deceased, where she now resides with the rest.
Strangled by a lack of words, as the chilling
air steals the breath from my lungs like our first kiss, I stumble towards a
particular piece of masonry. Nothing in this feeble existence is of any
importance to me. Other than to physically and spiritually let my body be thrown
to the impatient claws of grief. I fall down on my knees and present what’s
left of my tormented and distorted excuse of a soul before my love.
I tend to get lost in the metaphors and intricate adjectives you use here (could be that I am only in my youth), but I enjoyed it. Your phrasing makes it difficult to concentrate, for instance: one second, I am lost in the dream with the protagonist (or at least I assume so) with heavy clothes and gloomy skies, then a well-thought out metaphor continues on and I am lost in my own thoughts about many more poetry lines and metaphors it reminds me of in place of your writing. I would suggest toning down the complex style, unless of course you are aiming for a poetic book.
Posted 12 Years Ago
1 of 1 people found this review constructive.
12 Years Ago
I think it will indeed be considered a poetic book. We felt that with the effort and time we are put.. read moreI think it will indeed be considered a poetic book. We felt that with the effort and time we are putting into creating it, why not have the reader take time to understand the emotions we are trying to convey. I could go into a philosophy lesson on it but I'll save you that haha :)
12 Years Ago
No need for a lesson; I'm well educated on that concept.
Some of your sentences, especially your second one in this chapter, seem to run-on and can be split into smaller sentences. If you do this, it would be easier to read. Other than that I love your poetic way of writing. (:
I suffer from a multiple personality disorder. It had been a major setback most of my younger life but Ive found that I enjoy collaborating my writing with my other me´s. Ive been told its actua.. more..