the ice is melting

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today was so quiet i could hear the ice melt in my glass.
sunlight trickled through the windows
and the sheets were white and clean,
soft against my bare legs.

i slipped in and out of consciousness
and i wasn't sure who's eyes i saw
when i closed mine but i know
it was your face i saw in my dreams.

my heartbeat was the loudest noise
i heard all day and it was irregular,
beating to a rythym controlled
by your image.

life is so much more silent now
without your laughter. i suppose
the more you want something
the easier it is to lose.

the ice has melted now,
the water is spilling onto the table,
my mouth is dry and my lips are sore
but thoughts of you make me too tired to move.

#first real poem i've written in a long, long time#
Last edited by Chanson on Mon Jan 30, 2006 10:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"And Matt Muir. Matt Muir, he's the sweetest guy. Have you ever looked into his eyes? It's like the first time I heard the Beatles" Superbad




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i slipped in and out of consciousness
and i wasn't sure who's eyes i saw
when i closed mine but i know


The line break between the last two lines really doesn't work. It appears like the thought ends on the second line and it took a while for me to understand it continues. I suggest you change it a bit ... maybe place "when" up a line?

I'm also struggling to understand the point of placing someone in parentheses rather than using that instead of something? Are you trying to imply something meaningful here? Because it was lost on me.

Otherwise I thought the lines were pretty, and I liked the silence references and the ice/water parts. Maybe you could develop the latter.
Nate wrote:And if YWS ever does become a company, Jack will be the President of European Operations. In fact, I'm just going to call him that anyways.




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I like it.
has a very slothish feel to it.
Plan B is always "Die Trying."




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Pretty Good for a first poem.. But I'dd recommend you to capitalize the ''I'' :wink:
I should not keep on, I'll just creep on creepin'on.



I was flummoxed by fractious Franny's decision to abrogate analgesics for the moribund victims of the recent conflagration. Of course, to display histrionics was discretionary, but I did so anyways, implicating a friend in my drama to make the effect cumulative. I think a misanthrope would have a prosaic appellation, perhaps one related to autonomy and the rejection of anthropocentrism. I think they wouldn't think much of the prominence of watching the coagulation of tea to prognosticate future malevolent events, not even if those events were related to jurisprudence.
— Spearmint