Screams of the Martyr

I would hang myself
At the top of my world
Like a hangman with vocal chords
Internal veins before the Lord

A human with angel wings;
Damned to cry but starts to sing
Kicks the chair to hold on
To the ending words of my favorite song

And maybe they’ll never know
Why I did it, you’ll never know

I’m lifeless in my eyes-
With blazed skin cut by knives-
Trailing down to a bleeding heart-
Synced to a song that was torn apart-
Miserable when I was alive-
I’m miserable in my worthless life-

Hanging in the summer’s eve
It’s time for night to bring the peace-
Forever lost, forever sung
Forever the screams of the martyr hung

Author's Note

Kind of part two to “A Dying Poet’s Sacrifice”

Self sacrifice is so honorable. To die, to die, to die.
Death is so passionate, and bittersweet.

How you die is the biggest code of honor in my opinion. Your last impression on the world-

If I go, it’s supernova or nothing. Remember me. Or don’t. It doesn’t matter; I’m dead

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Dear Saree. I lost two brothers to suicide. No notes, just a silence death.
"Hanging in the summer’s eve
It’s time for night to bring the peace-
Forever lost, forever sung
Forever the screams of the martyr hung"
The above lines. Leave more questions than answered. A life unlived. Leave a empty place for many. Thank you for sharing the powerful words and your thoughts.
Coyote

[Spamalot]

Self-sacrifice might be honorable, but in no way does this ring of it:


“I would hang myself At the top of my world”
– – – – –
So you’d climb a mountain to hang yourself? Why not just jump? This makes no sense on any level, and you never clarify as to WHY this unknown person feels this way. And as a minor point, suicide isn't self-sacrifice. It's just suicide.

My point? You’re saying things to sound deep, but not connecting them to the READER’s world, or inspiring them to say more than , “Uhh…okay,” as they read. Don’t tell your reader how YOU feel (especially if they never know why), make them feel.

“Like a hangman with vocal chords Internal veins before the Lord”
– – – – –
So, the average hangman doesn’t have vocal chords? Seriously? That is what you told the reader, even if that wasn’t your intent. And hangmen who do have vocal chords climb mountains and hang themselves? This makes no more sense than, the “internal veins.” That follows.

You’re trying to impress the reader with how obtuse you can be, when you should be working to move them emotionally, and make them care.

Gilbert and Sullivan addressed this point in the musical they called, Patience, or, Bunthorn’s Bride. In it, to impress the ladies, Bunthorn wrote poems very like this one:

"OH, HOLLOW! HOLLOW! HOLLOW!"


What time the poet hath hymned

The writhing maid, lithe-limbed,

Quivering on amaranthine asphodel,

How can he paint her woes,

Knowing, as well he knows,

That all can be set right with calomel?


When from the poet's plinth

The amorous colocynth

Yearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous thrills,

How can he hymn their throes

Knowing, as well he knows,

That they are only uncompounded pills?


Is it, and can it be,

Nature hath this decree,

Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell?

Or that in all her works

Something poetic lurks,

Even in colocynth and calomel?

I cannot tell.

To see Bunrthorn’s confession to being a sham, Dennis Olson’s version is brilliantly done.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJCyN6rH2cM

[LazerRays]

This b***h really thinks he’s on to something. Lol.

[Connie L. Kuntz]

Very heartfelt! Your writing makes me feel like you have been living in my head! I love it!

[LazerRays]

I'm glad haha, thank you or your review

[T.S. Ulmus]

Dark, a little too close to too many thoughts I've had. But I guess that is the point of art -to show a mirror to this life. I like when a work makes me feel uncomfortable because then I know there's truth. You captured a thought, an emotion, your words have given me a puzzle piece that I can at least turn over in my hands.

[LazerRays]

Thank you, darkness is what I like to capture

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"to sleep perchance to dream---aye there's the rub"

the dying poet gets noticed...why does it take that?
then everyone starts wondering what drove the poet to martyrdom...
this is such a cry for attention...I love it...
please see me now...don't make me bleed to be read...
excellent piece of work here.
j.

[LazerRays]

Thank you very much Jacob appreciate you comment :)