Searching

Sorry if it's a little "emo." I needed to write it.

It’s beyond late in this place where
the lamplight fails to fill the room
and the cigar smoke hangs heavy
as tumors in the mind

It’s beyond late and I’m short
of breath and long of thought as I
search these torchless dungeons
with sweaty palms

Here’s to hoping that at the end
of the rainbow
I find the leprechaun’s gold

Here’s to hoping that at the end
of the journey
I claim the dragon’s hoard

Here’s to hoping that at the end
of my sweaty-palmed, bone-picking,
face-in-the-mud adventure I find
something to dull the razor edge

Something worth treasuring
until I’m less than dust, until these
words fade and fail, until my life
is long forgotten

Author's Note

Any and all thoughts are welcome! Thanks!

Reviews

[J]

One tip which I thought I'd bring up:
as I search the dungeons of my soul
with sweaty palms�
to
as I search these dungeons
with sweaty palms�
The reason being? "Soul" is so overused that it's lost its charm. Any time where it's absolutely not necessary, cut it out and refine your message down. Just an opinion, of course.

With that said, you state what you think and feel originally. I've always loved stories about dragons and gold and knights so I have an affinity for this sort of thing.

I enjoyed your first strophe the most because of the imagery you portray here: the mention of lamplight and cigar smoke gives this a melancholy feeling, yes. And which sets this up smoothly for the rest of your piece, one which speaks of eternal longing for something truly beautiful and free, untroubled by outer reality yet conflicted with that inner world we all dwell in.

And to keep searching, yet to realise that it's what you say: that this pot of gold is nigh-on impossible to find, the nature of rainbows being that one can never find the end. Random note, but did you know rainbows from above are actually full circles? So indeed, there's never an end but instead an optical cycle of illusion which we can try to break free of, to find the true treasures all around us, yeah?

Yeah.

[An Open Venue]

Don't look for me while I am busy working; don't look as my friends and I frolic about; look when it is 2 am and I can't sleep again, when all that I am festers and closes in on me; then you will see me.
We all want our souls to be in the pot of gold.

well done

Ven

[Emily B]

it is what we all are looking for . . .

each and every one of us in the cafe. . . whether we admit it or not