Wings

With dark wings of a presise art,
bending and folding into sinister shapes,
they dance on the walls in the half formed light.
They cast a glowing light on the too small walls,
a hope in this dark asylum.
Our black wings unfold every night,
and flap relentlessly in this claustrophobic cell.
Occasionally they meet,
but are pulled away,
the pain of escaping too great to conquer.
They grow,
just as everything in this god forsaken place,
and stretch.
When they meet the guards brandish their whips,
coiled around their burnt wrists.

The moon is high in the cobblestone courtyard,
the mice skittering over the blue stones, limping.
The prisoners are let out under the watchful eyes of the moon,
while you converse with the man in white.
The angel that you are is a lie, a fake,
a sham.

You work your way back into my mind after I have left you behind,
your black wings taking up my mind.
Your changing me,
my wings,
my voice.
What are you waiting for?
Just pull the trigger.




-thestorygirl

Nice! I like it!

First of all, the flow was really good, despite the differences in the lengths of lines. Instead of ruining the fluency, the variation just added to the interest considerably.

There were just a few editing errors I caught:

With dark wings of a presise art,

"Presise" is actually "precise".

Our black wings unfold every night,
and flap relentlessly in this claustrophobic cell.

The way you place the word "claustrophobic" makes it seem as though it is the cell that is claustrophobic of...itself?
I believe you meant to say that you and whoever else are claustrophobic in the cell.

Your changing me,
my wings,
my voice.

"Your" is supposed to be "you're".

Otherwise, I really enjoyed the poem and keep writing them!

~Lili

First of all, this should be divided in the decent stanzas. Right now it's confusing and hard to read, try cleaning that up a bit.

Red - corrections
Green - take out
Purple - comments

With dark wings of a precise art,
bending and folding into sinister shapes,
they dance on the walls in the half formed light. This would read better "dancing on walls in half formed light"
They cast a glowing light on the too small walls,
a hope in this dark asylum.
Our black wings unfold every night,
and flapping relentlessly in this claustrophobic cell.
Occasionally they meet,
but are pulled away, Move this line up one ^
the pain of escaping fartoo great to conquer.
They grow,
just as everything in this god forsaken place. Move this line up one ^
and stretch.
When they meet the guards brandish their whips,
coiled around their burnt wrists.

The moon is high in the cobblestone courtyard,
the mice skittering over the blue stones, limping.
The Prisoners are let out under the watchful eyes of the moon, Hmm, maybe try "Prisoners are free under the eyes of the moon," or "Prisoners are free under the watchful moon"
while you converse with the man in white.
The angel that you are is a lie, a fake,
a sham. Move this up ^[color=#800080][/color]

You work your way back into my mind after I have left you behind,"Working your way into my mind, when I left you behind."
your black wings take up my mind.
You're changing me,
my wings, Move up ^
my voice. Move up ^
What are you waiting for?
Just pull the trigger.

So...
The flow of the poem was really good.
The tempo was bad in the first stanza but shot off nice after that.
The rythme was good sides the first and second stanza.
There was many spelling errors and you should be able to find them.
Good job and good luck!
~spartacus~

my wings took me down to my death ~dreamer~

Since I'm prone to editing first, I will edit first. Don't get upset, I'm just working through it--then I'll tell you what I like! And take it with a grain of salt. I'm not brilliant.

"With dark wings of a precise art--
Bending and folding into sinister shapes;
They dance on the walls in the half formed light.
They cast a glowing light on the too-small walls,
A hope in this dark asylum.
Our black wings unfold every night,
They flap relentlessly in this claustrophobic cell.
Occasionally they meet, but are pulled away.
The pain of escaping too great to conquer!
They grow, just as everything in this god-forsaken place,
and stretch.
When they meet the guards brandish their whips,
coiled around their burnt wrists.

The moon is high in the cobblestone courtyard,
the mice skittering over the blue stones.
Limping, the prisoners are let out under the watchful eyes of the moon,
While you converse with the man in white.
The angel that you are is a lie, a fake--
A sham.

You work your way back into my mind after I have left you behind,
your black wings taking up my mind.
You're changing me,
My wings,
My voice.
What are you waiting for?
Just pull the trigger."

I prefer it written like this. I think it makes more sense. But...like I said, take it with a grain of salt. Your way is fine, it just seems chunky, for lack of a better word. Too much information, not enough pause. I don't know if the above is grammatically correct in poetry, but if you were to read it, it'd sound better. (It'd sound better to me, that is.)

Also, great job at adding the BANG I talked about. That last line was like--SHOCK. Nice job. It's a mite confusing, but I like it quite a lot more than the previous one. The last wasn't bad, but this one definitely kept my attention better.