Melville-Style Poem

I wrote this poem junior year- the assignment was to write in Herman Melville's style (which was unusual- he wrote a great deal about war). I oddly enough enjoyed how it turned out.

I dreamt the rust of a bowie knife was left on my brother.

Veins swelled until they burst,

Women cut their knees falling to the ground.

Over the horizon the stagnant steam veiled the facade 

They dripped with iron, red and hot until they drowned. 

Irenic Spirit atop the water floating with lungs slashed

The Divine Trip,

Styx and I, the bottomless red hue 

No memorial of bone is so fine,

These halcyon days are not mine. 

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

A big knife indeed. I like the analogy of this mini sword ...( Bowie Knife )