Running

Lost.

Running.

Slipping into a painful reality of broken hearts and freezing cold. Running without looking ahead, only behind, as her terrifying dreams become a nightmare in real life. Wet, broken, and haunted by dreams she hopes never to revisit. White hot slashes of memory roll through her head, a strip of leather coming down, punches, yells, screaming, pain. Beer bottles scattered in the backyard like fallen troops on a battlefield still sing their haunting melody in her memory .She had enough of bulky sweaters to hide the bruises. enough of pain of the past. Just running, running from the past.

Running everywhere.

Getting nowhere.

Reviews

[AllenS]

My attention was captured by the urgency of this piece. We run forward, looking backward as we feel pursued. It is important to know that I am being pursued by feelings. Feelings are ephemeral, the last for a brief moment in time. If one chooses to "revisit" those dreams, it is helpful to know that the revisitation is a choice. In this way I can make a different choice in the future. The question I ask myself is, "Why do I need to "pursue" my own sense of peace with these harrowing remembrances?" My Buddhist friends speak of letting the thoughts flow through the mind as a porous fabric. They seem to practice skill of recognizing the thought as thought without holding on or applying judgement to it.

Whistling beer cans like troops on a dead battlefield is a brilliant description of the feeling of being riddled with the unwanted memories. The mind seperates itself from the event by remembering that it is now a dead battlefield. There is no returning to the field except through memory. By so doing we continue to replay the horror of the experience. What would it be to let it go? What would not be accomplished by letting it go. The bulky sweaters hiding bruises suggest that the battlefield my not be in some foreighn country but in ones own home. At some point we decided to stop running and stand to face what is pursuing us.

I love this poem. I unpacked it to let you know how my mind works with a piece so poniently packed with emotional imagery. I am not attempting to psychoanalyze as much as to say I have been there and will most likely be there again. You have touched me. Thank you.

[Delmar Cooper]

"Wright" is a proper name, "write" is the verb. The gerund is "writing" not "wrighting".

As to the analogy of the fallen beverage containers, bottles would work well because bottles whistle plaintively when air moves over the opening, and a battlefield may be dead, but have wounded survivors.
If you absolutely have to have it I mean. Otherwise, kill your darlings.

[Robin Saxon]

A good strong piece of writing. I feel there is painful truth in these words
I wasn't sure about 'The whistling of beer cans in the backyard like fallen troops on a dead battlefield'. I love the analogy of beer cans as fallen troops, it's the whistling bit that to me doesn't quite fit. I understand the concept of empty beer cans, the wind causing them to whistle but fallen troops don't whistle so the whole analogy twists on itself.

This by the way is not a criticism of your writing skills, it is just my opinion and like I have said to others in the past, it means no more or less then you want it too.

[Wyrn Tiger]

OK first thank you and criticism is greatly appreciated. That being said, The beer cans represent drinking and an alcoholic and, your right fallin troops don't whistle, that comparison was meant for the cans laying dead and empty in the yard and less for the sound those cans made.

[Wyrn Tiger]

if you have another way to wright that line I would appreciate the help

[Robin Saxon]

Beer cans scattered in the backyard like fallen troops on a battlefield still sing their haunting melody when Aeolus plays his tune.

Maybe something like this?

[Wyrn Tiger]

That sounds good to me