When Darkness Comes.

lol, well okay then, personally I write my rhythmical notes (you could say they're poetry, but they're really just letters/notes with a beat and a bit of rhyme) but I write them for pretty much one specific person, and then only they will see it unless someone is being nosy and reads them while Im writing them over my shoulder -.-
 
*shrugs* people say Im good, personally, I go through like 5 drafts of the same few words over and over again before I find the right ones to say. :/ god I hate being a perfectionist with words that mean something
 
Lol I can be like that sometimes. I've only ever written one poem, that wasn't meant to be a poem, but that's what it turned into. O.o A really depressing one. But.. I got really, really upset and ended up completely shredding it.
 
most of mine if you read them, they always are about someone saving me from my internal depression moments. Like seriously I dont know how many times Ive written about how Zach (my bf) has pulled me out of me "dark abyss" (what I call my depression, I see it as a long deep dark hole in my life I fall into from time to time and never can see the bottom) its really depressing to me to write them too cause I have to remember how I felt then and then my perfectionist side kicks in and I spend like 10 minutes on the same idea that depressed me it all just goes down hill from there. but I still show him them and he says that they are always so good. I dont see them as good so
 
Hey treb, when writing poetry you should never edit. It does in theory create a "perfect" poem. But then it has no feeling. Just let the pen flow, let your ideas loose themselves onto the paper. and if you don't like what you see then take the best line from that poem and use it as the first line as the next one. if you continue that, not only will you find that "perfect" poem your looking for, you will also create a massive library of poetry.
 
Haru, let me tell you something about my "poetry" I never change my mind, I never stop myself, my brain does, my brain jumbles words mixes letter, takes my flow and just f*cks it up. Listen to this, and anyone reading htese can read as well, and just tell me what you personally think of my writing. this wasnt done in one take, and never couldve been but its perfection to my mind so yea.


I dream of a world


full of wonder and beauty.


I dream of a place


where all is safe.


Where imagination is free


to run or just be.


I dream of a sky so blue


its like an ocean 2


I dream of a land where there is miles of sand,


and no shoes or sun


to ruin our fun.


I wish for a winter


so beautiful and white


to look up


and see those bright stary nights.


I pray for the day


that all little kids want;


a day of laughter


of jolly good smiles.


I hope for the life


to go without strife.


To be what I want to be


to see what I want to see


and surround myself with all that I please.


I dream of a life;


I dream of a world;


I pray to see;


I hope to be alive;


To see all your wishes


Come True
 
It is indeed good, or "Perfect" even. But it lacks that...how do i say, feeling. That is essential for a poem. Here, i'll show you one of mine. This is by no means perfect, but it does emulate the type of emotions that i aim for in my poems.


“Cold”


“I am cold” I said,


Mother would bring the heater near,


“I'm still shivering” I said,


She would turn the knob,


“Mother, it isn't working,”


She’d tap the heater, “Yes it is”


Before long it became clear,


I had an unfixable problem


What do you do when the feeling “cold”


is no longer a temperature,


What do you do when you can see your breath


Even in the summertime,


What...can you do?


Cold hands, warm heart,


My grandmother would say,


“But grandma, what does it mean if both these things are cold?”


A sharp pain i’d feel….


Emotional and physical,


But the cold burdened me no longer,


Not even ice laid in my wretched heart,


Simply darkness,


But not an evil one, a crying one


A hole so empty that not even the “Sun”...could warm it,


A hole that needs a filling so desperately,


Even “Soldiers”...”Tanks”, wear down from constant exposure


Constant exposure to a dull...cold...existence


A gloss covers my eyes, One that shields the pain,


Yet beckons it in the same instant,


What do you do when a living, beating part of you Rips,


Itself out


It detested you so much that it tore “Itself” away,


“How can a man live with a frozen heart?” He asked the priest,


“It’s simple,” The priest replied,


“He can’t.”
 
I cant tell if its just me being an emotionless pit trap with all my exposure to depression and my self mentaly believing the only feeling it can feel left is pain. Or I just wasnt hearing the tone you were trying to convey that can only be given when a poem is read aloud, but I can honestly say I didnt really feel anything reading that.... Sorry....it was very well written, but I just didnt really feel much in reading it. maybe its because I always feel cold and empty inside and I connect the two already, but it just didnt change my emotions that much really..
 
Don't apologize. You not feeling anything only shows my failure as a poet. I will take your criticism and use it to move forward.
 
O.o I have no idea.. Is Shena on? 
xD That's funny... Me and Barren's 1x1 is pertaining to cats at the moment.
 
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