Plea

Stream-of-consciousness poem.

Inevitable calamitous déjà vu come true, go easy on me when you arrive.

Indignant and callous days of my youth, I’m sure you’ll be there laughing when I die.

Torrential storms brew within an internal abyss, pelting the walls of my stomach with tiny stones swept from foreign and distant shores,

And darkness creeps like a fog upon the horizon, claiming the Sun’s rightful territory for its own as a prize from some sort of eternal contest of strength, or tug-of-war. 

Emotionless thief at night, I will wait for you with teeth bared.

Surrounded by glimmering armor wrought from the silk of spiders.

Dripping in silver and draped in a burial shroud.

Death, be not proud. 

Reviews

[Leanne Staples]

Such strong imagery! The demons come to haunt. There are some really good metaphors here. I wonder about the shape of the piece and why you chose the lines in that manner? The third and fourth line wrap around and somehow I think that it would read better with those 2 lines broken up. That's just my feeling about it. It an also create more suspense. Bravo!

[wolfshrew]

This has always been my favorite way to write poetry, even though it often takes me deep into nowhere. Your skilled writing and varying vocabulary kept you leading the reader down a path, which I am impressed by. You've got some good stuff going on inside your head.

[. serah .]

-- wow... -- english is not my first language and i majored in history so it's really tough for me to even begin to do justice to this piece but i'll try... -- your poetic voice is haunting... -- the description of the "internal abyss" is compelling... and there are many exquisite images/expressions like "emotionless thief at night", "glimmering armour wrought from the silk of spiders", and "dripping in silver"... -- excellent work, monsieur...