This is one of the poems I did during March's NaPoWriMo. Originally the whole story was told in the middle, but it wasn't very poetic. So I cut this down to just the first and last lines. I like it a lot more now.
Hey Blue. This was soo short, but soo cute! I'm not kidding, I just...love this. I know, it's only four lines, but they're four lines of epicness. Maybe this isn't even a poem, but I think in a way that's like looking at something and saying that it almost isn't art. It is what you want it to be. And I like it. Keep writing, StoryWeaver
This, I have to say, got me thinking! And when I read it again I was like "Oh!" *palm/face*
Yeah. So I see the 'two' as once upon a time being two people who completed each other- the perfect match/fit- they formed one. Because for most people, you can't have Oreos without milk so they were two beings who existed together like two pieces of a jigsaw pizzle, or like an enzyme's active site and its substrate ( okay, I'm going into biology here...).
And then, since you said that these four lines are from the beginning and the end, I feel as though I know the whole story and that's fantastic. I see that at the end, they're two seperate beings- contradictory and in competition, just like Pepsi and Coke (Coke is so much better that Pepsi by the way!).
I really like what you've done here, and I'd like to have a look at the NaPo version. I think your message in these four lines was very powerful and it shows that length doesn't matter in poetry but that even the small - yet well chosen - amount of words can deliver a great lot to readers.
I have nothing to add, so to some up: this was a really good poem and its length helps keep the message in the reader's mind. That shows its power. So well done for this!
Keep writing!
Peace,
- Mikko.
when she needs to shelter from reality she takes a dip in my daydreams
When we are children we seldom think of the future. This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind. — Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind
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