OUCH, what a heart breaking poem... it bleeds the silence and anger of "all that remains are metered thorns / sonnets darkly etched upon my breast," I love these lines too, " and I'm left trembling / withering on an exhaled vine"... the emptiness that flow through your poem is palpable and leaves the reader feeling betrayed by silence and in need of warmth of loudly "rose painted hues"... And as usual, the music adds a deeper dimension to your words... ok think I will go listen to Mozart's "Requiem" and cheer up some... you always make my heart burn Frieda... and I love you for it
~~redzone
Posted 10 Years Ago
1 of 1 people found this review constructive.
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your poetry is like a deeply encoded system of greatness and the more you read it the better you understand each one. you have reoccurring themes throughout your pieces and thats what i love about them! this poem is so full of angst it almost bites you through the page...screen? either way it is VERY powerful and very good.
Shorter than your usual faire Frieda but that seems to make it even more weightier - like the heavy elements of the periodic table. I feel for you - where are you anyway? Will ye not come back lassie fer a wee lumber?
i always enjoy how you beautifully portray the concept of your title painted with metaphors and phrases so powerful.... and this poem definitely evokes the wanted emotions in me that lies between
I have to say this is one of my favorites of yours.. I love the metaphor that is brilliantly woven in this tale.. The pain is palpable and powerful... the phrasing in here is brilliant and beautiful... absolutely stunning ma'am...
I very much enjoyed your connection between misery and common literary terms. As writing can often be dark, especially on here, this poem is a powerful reminder of what lies in between the lines: heartache, sadness, despair. Emotions that words cannot describe, it's all in there. Great job here. ~Never Forget
And, who shall know of the agony a writer pours between the spaces, the prostration one does between each word, the secret one burries beneath their metaphors -- and the death one dies within the sphere of each fullstop? And where does the "silence of the fingers" go, after one's ink is resurrected between each screaming "meaning".
If you want to know me, read my poetry, it's all in there. I am a mother of three sons (my finest moments) a sister, a survivor and a little bit crazy. I lost my beloved sister to suicide, so you'll.. more..