The Fading

Day by day you become less
and less substantial,
a love letter
where the writing is fading away.

Each day I don't hear from you
erases something you once whispered
into my ear. Yet I refuse
to let you disappear gracefully.

Not that I would beg,
even when the urge siezes me.

No- my words to you
are measured
and well-spaced
with weeks between them.

Only a delicate insinuation
here and there
that I might be suffering.
Never a hint
that it might be your fault.

The days are as blank as winter now,
the horizon, stretching white
into the cold unknown.

Reviews

[J]

First off, I'll say something constructive: perhaps ditch the two instances where you write "like"... transform them from similes to metaphors. It breathes better to me... and perhaps... "where the writing is fading away"... might sound more penetrating rendered as "where the writing fades away"... more present-tense and active, I guess.

My other thought was perhaps break this up into strophes, to let it breathe... but I'm not sure if that would destroy the psychological impact this gives.

I don't know what to say about love poems most of the time... especially lost-love ones. Even though I've written a few, they're hard ones to comment on... not because they're usually far more personal than other types of pieces, but because, I'm not sure really... these pieces ache and attach themselves in ways only the writer could truly fathom.

Two other things I thought about:
"to ask you
for the love of God
what the hell is going on?"
--and--
"that I might be suffering."
Too spoon-fed to me, I guess. Taking these two parts out would strengthen this piece in my opinion, as it's already implicitly said underneath. What do you think?

There's dire hopelessness in this piece, but there's a tint of "maybe it might work out... maybe it'll be rekindled"... but deep down, the tone is resigned to me.

A painful moment.
J

[Static C]

They say that time heals all things. Sometimes time moves much to slowly for our heart to bear it. In silence our thoughts scream at us for resolution to pain that seems enduring in ways we could wish were not. But we are the masters of our minds, and thus our hearts. Trying to get someone who caused us pain to see what they have done is often a fruitless journey, and fraught with peril. If we focus to long on pain it can be like unto a seed planted in the garden of our hearts, that, when fed too much grows roots that twine themselves about the bedrock of our secret garden. Poems like this often help us to pull these deadly weeds from the soil of our souls. I hope than when you wrote this it was a healing experience instead of something that only caused the pain to root deeper.

[Juliet]

This poem flows beautifully down the page. I would like to tell you something I'd change, but I love this, just as it is. I will try to find flaws, but I have a feeling I may relate to your ebb and flow of thought too well :)

"The days are blank as winter now/the horizon/stretching white and cold/into an unimaginable future." Perfect. Just perfect.

[Barry S. Maltese]

Nice work! Yes, it will hurt less every day. Yes, the bad memories will fade away, and the good memories will lead less to regret - and more to a reflective smile. And someday, when you are so solidly entwined with another loving soul, you will only remember the good feeling you shared, and graciously pitty him for his mistake.
Nicely written poem, my friend. I enjoyed the read!

[The Verse]

you have the gift.

[The Language of Birds]

Hello from long ago Elizabeth,

I have missed your writing.

This poem has lovely potential. It already has a good pace, some powerful images, and that ache...that sweet ache.

I would recommend just a few diction changes and weeding out a couple of lines to up the others' impact, kind of like my recommendations for "A Dress for Love" long ago.

First of all, your title is great and you have a perfect first line. You've grabbed me. From then on this is what I would recommend:

Day by day you become less
and less substantial,
a love letter
where the writing is fading away.

Each day I don't hear from you
erases something you once whispered
into my ear. Yet I refuse
to let you disappear gracefully.

Not that I would beg,
even when the urge siezes me.

No- my words to you
are measured
and well-spaced
with weeks between them.

Only a delicate insinuation
here and there
that I might be suffering.
Never a hint
that it might be your fault.

The days are as blank as winter now,
the horizon, stretching white
into the cold unknown.

I don't know for sure. I feel like I have meddled too much with the intention of some of your lines, but that is my original take on it. I know I put line breaks in there again, which is so typical of me. I just felt like the lines,

"my words to you
are measured
and well-spaced
with weeks between them."

were aching for a break here and there.

It is so good to read you again.

Keep writing, dear lady. You feed my soul.

Regards,

Jim C-D

[Tony]

I don't know much about poetry but I wanted to review something of yours... I'll do the best I can for ya.

It uses words. They're placed in an order that conveys a message. That's good. You also use punctuation marks. Those are always good. Um... the lines are all margined to the right, another good thing. Oh and it has a title; all work needs titles.

Like I said... I don't know much about poetry and I usually don't read poems.

As for this one, it seems to me to be a little clumsy in a few places.... but that could be more my inability to read peotry than the work itself. On a whole I liked it and there are a signifigant amount of lines I can relate to, which in any writing is important.

I'm really sorry I couldn't be of more help to you with this.

Tony