Mercy Burning

I hate existententialism:
the way it smears the colors,
the flowers like Monet
in more of a sunset horizon

that hinges the dark and light
between us into ink stains
on the tattered pages of my heart;
it all fuels this burning bridge

where we can stand linked apart,
and I can see the end in your eyes
but cannot view the soul
for the flames that consume us

like blackened water and wilted roses,
and perhaps I will burn alone,
unable to invoke your name
on one knee, in retribution.

I rip your texts away
from my lonely notebooks
and the repugnance of the matter
aching in my head and in my throat

with just these unsaid between us:
shades of grey complacency
vindicating my folly,
that I ever meant anything at all...

Firstly dear, I would like to acquaint you with my critiquing style: when I critique, I do a full analysis of the piece and go pretty indepth. So, that's that, and I begin.

First - you have some great imagery in this: the hinges, the ink stains, the blackened water. But then you have some very clichéd ones: the tattered pages of my heart, the flames.

Second - your wording is refreshing. very refreshing. I like it.

Third - as Bob would say: Do the PUNCT! You have punctuation in this, but are not consistant.

Fourth - Ditch the ellipses (...), they don't work.

Favorite part of mine is the first stanza. I adore it.

So here I go... my edited version with superfluous words out, and punct in.

I hate existentialism:
the way it smears the colors,
the flowers like Monet
(change the word 'but' to something else) but more a sunset horizon

that hinges the dark and light
between us into ink stains
on the tattered pages of my heart;
fuel for this bridge, a dusky flame, ('dusky flame' seems wrong here conjected with bridge.)

where we can stand linked apart,
and I can see the end in your eyes
but cannot view the soul,
for the flames that consume us-

like blackened water and wilted roses.
perhaps I will burn alone
unable to invoke your name
on one knee, in retribution.

I rip your texts away
from my lonely notebooks,
and the repugnance of the matter
is aching in my head and in my throat

with just this unsaid between us:
shades of grey complacency
vindicating my folly,
that I ever meant anything at all.

--

Hope this helps. Looking forward to looking at some more of your work. Cheerios, hon. CL.

Some of your images are slightly overworn, but others of them - very tattered and tragic. I enjoyed it. The beginning was great, but the way you used the eclipses made the entire thing seem drifty. I had my eclipses phase, too. But it doesn't add confidence to your poem, and their best when sparse. =]

Thank you for the input. My biggest literary downfall was the epiphany one day that when writing, one does not have to use perfect punctuation and grammar like I was rigidly taught. I then got very confused about where it needs to be applied. As I know my own work, and few others read it, it didn't seem to matter if anyone knew what in the world I was talking about.

Just for everyone's help critiquing me, because I'm new, I overuse ellipses writing prose. In poetry I am in an Emily Dickinson phase in that I use too many dashes, and those were what were formerly ellipses. I tend to be a little distracted and random writing. I am also comma happy, because to me a period seems too definite. (Do I have the fear of commitment or what?)

Feel free to point this all out. I need it. Crack down. It never helped me to be a good writer at school compared to the kids who are just there for credit and don't like to write. I've had my creative writing teacher in the bag this whole year so to speak.

Oh. I have one last random thought. I know I can get cliche. I write to sort out my emotions, and it doesn't always work without getting tainted by outside influence. They aren't flames of love. It's more like we are burning for our guilts and sins because we have both ruined our own lives, and we have both done everything we can to ruin each other's lives. Neither one of us can see "the measure of our ruin," so we will both take the fall. Is it still extremely cliche in that light? I'm really curious as the new kid. I guess I never saw it that way, or maybe I just haven't read the right authors. [/pre]

I had a few difficulties, namely this portion of your piece:

where we can stand linked apart,
and I can see the end in your eyes
but cannot view the soul
for the flames that consume us

like blackened water and wilted roses,
and perhaps I will burn alone,

It seems dry and trite and I know you can offer more because I saw one astonishing line about 'envoking his name on one knee'. I think we differ in writing technique, but your poem is too confined to structure. Each line equal and to a point, but I didn't feel or see anything. I saw nothing old in a new light and nothing new in and old light. A good poem makes people see some common thing differently. I'd say you want to steer clear of using cliche words even like "soul", "wilted roses" or "burn alone." as much as possible.