My past days memories Are cold like a winter breeze Yet it warms my spirit Like our song, when I hear it I hear it and I smile It's my natural reaction Like that day in the coffee shop An instant attraction Our days were so colorful Now they're white and black I hate them in this gray scale When's the color coming back? Our spark must have died From our hotel nights You were my fearless lover We had rebel's sights But our coffee shop days Have so long ago ended And the colors fade to dark And our high has descended Now everything I've seen Reminds me of the scene Of our Electric little sparks Back in Image Fourteen...
A rhythmic, flowing, satisfying piece of writing with a neat and compact structure. The rhyming chimes cleanly like a brand new brass bell; but with a softness upon the inner ear that brings comfort to the readability of the poem.
The relationship between the image and the content creates a hint of sadness which sits nicely with the lightness of the style. The concept of "Image Fourteen" (which obviously has a second meaning here!) creates an enigmatic touch in the way it sounds, and the idea of it being a compartment of memory...
I like how you brought the fact that their is no color in this picture. I also like how you spoke about having memories of another time, like it was almost another place. Great writing.
A rhythmic, flowing, satisfying piece of writing with a neat and compact structure. The rhyming chimes cleanly like a brand new brass bell; but with a softness upon the inner ear that brings comfort to the readability of the poem.
The relationship between the image and the content creates a hint of sadness which sits nicely with the lightness of the style. The concept of "Image Fourteen" (which obviously has a second meaning here!) creates an enigmatic touch in the way it sounds, and the idea of it being a compartment of memory...