Composition

A high keynote, followed by
wooden melodies and calloused
fingers; the edge of a string being
the edge of the earth in this jagged
game. Harmonies chopped up
like corpses and stacked in stone
coffins, untouched, rotting, until
the flies come and all is wasted.

Engraved into the black keys of
pianos: a clef’s dead skin, heart
still pounding in the underregions
of samsara. Carved with shattered
glass, zigzagging through mortality,
endless (cycle). The mouths begin to ripple
and fall, spark a fuse through which
their endless murmurings can be channeled.
And finally the flies leave, and finally
the pleas are echoed back along the
bowstring, for when the symphonies
begin to unfold, even this bleeding note
can be revived. Even this dark path
can be made light.

But I am already gone.

Kafkaescence wrote:Harmonies chopped up
like meat and stacked in neat little
drawers, untouched, rotting, until
the flies come and all is wasted.

If your intentions were to use the bolded words as adjectives, then this bit of the poem sounds odd. As I said before, it doesn't come off as a complete sentence at all, and therefore reads awkward. The image displayed works good, don't get me wrong (though "until the flies come and all is wasted" has no color to it compared to the rest of the piece). Now, if you meant to use them as verbs, you may want to change the tense so that it's in the present, like everything else.

Kafkaescence wrote:Engraved into the black keys of
pianos, a drum’s dead skin, heart
still pounding in the underregions
of samsara, carved with shattered
glass, zigzagging through mortality,
endless.

Again. Very awkward sentence. It feels as if nothing's really doing an action - you're just telling us what's there. That's just my opinion, though. Do what you want with it all.

Kafkaescence wrote:And finally the flies leave,
for when the symphonies begin
to unfold, even this bleeding note
can be revived. Even this dark path
can be made light.

Wooo! Sudden shift to good. Try to ease into the ending a bit more.. the transition between these lines and the ones I quoted before is a little rough. Also, "and finally the flies leave" is, again, colorless.

Absolutely adored the last line. Love, love, loooove.

Okay. Now, aside from all of the line-picking, I loved this poem. You introduced quite a few instruments - a guitar/violin, piano, drums - and utilized them well. I especially loved the first half of the first stanza:

Kafkaescence wrote:A high keynote, followed by
wooden melodies and calloused
fingers; the edge of a string being
the edge of the earth in this jagged
game.

Written close to perfection (nothing's ever perfect, of course). You've hit the nail on the head, my friend.
And considering I'm a huge music fanatic, I'm a sucker for music poetry This may inspire me to write sometime soon. Fantastic work, sir Kafka. You've done it again.

I almost didn't finish this one, It's going to give me nightmares!
In the second stanza (doing my best to comb through this without being too scared) I think Murmuring would be a better word than muttering. Just me, But since this is a little (!) depressing I thought that since murmuring also means talking bad, it would fit better in that sense, too.
Sad poem!

Hey Cafe! Here as you requested. ^^

The first thing I did upon reading this poem was click on the 'like' button. (I actually remembered to do that this time!) Ear seems to have given this a pretty thorough run-through, though, so this review might be pretty short and some-what useless.

First off- your imagery was awesome. It was all original, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Unlike Sassy, It didn't really frighten me. (Then again, dark has always sort of been my thing.) It did, however, gives me that chilling feeling that I love ever so much.

Unlike earendil, though, I really liked this bit:

Kafkaescence wrote:Harmonies chopped up
like corpses and stacked in stone
coffins, untouched, rotting, until
the flies come and all is wasted.

I enjoyed it for the exact reasons she didn't. Chopped and stacked added something-- an extra punch if you will. Those two words stood out to me, and as far as I'm concerned, that's a good thing. Also, fragments aren't necessarily bad things in poetry. *quotes from somewhere she can't remember* "Poetry is a story so good that it doesn't require complete sentences." (I loved this quote, but I can't remember who wrote it)

And, that's about all I have to say about this. Sorry for any lame-ness here. xD

Peace.

~~Cass