Nothing

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Points 5081
Reviews 270
Everyone! Two words: Unreliable Narrator.

-------------

Starving for
A speck of truth
In the void of
Confusion

Swirling about
In ideas
Thoughts
Theories
Nonsensical to the ear
And to the mind.

Coming close--
Is this truth?
Then being ripped away--
Where is the solidity?
Why is everything shifting?

Try me,
I have nothing.
Search me,
I have none--
No doctrine,
No god,
No beliefs.

I am insanity
Yet people call me genius
Or common sense
Or the way out.

What is security?
Believing something,
I would think.
What can you believe?

The Christians are full of bull,
Yet the atheists have no hope.
The evolutionists are improbable,
But so is the idea
Of something out of nothing.

The Hindis--
Why should we believe them?
Their god is just as oppressive.
The Muslims--
Aren't they even more
Insane than the Christians?

Get out,
Get away!
I believe in no one, nothing.
Yet even that is a belief--
My belief is that I don't believe.

What is there to believe in?
Nothing is solid, nothing is stable.
Who believes the same thing?
Almost no one.
Reality is relative,
And no one is sane.
"Ok, Lolpup. You can be a girl worth fighting for."
--Pengu




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Gender Male
Points 17895
Reviews 489
When I read the 'unreliable narrator' all I could think of was Nick Carraway from the Great Gatsby, and Nelly from Wuthering Heights.

In any case, a review is at hand, yes? So lets get this show on the road!

Missy, you have an interesting voice to this poem. A very, very interesting voice, and I'm curious as to what inspired it. It doesn't sound like something I expected from you, though I definitely appreciate it and the ideals in depicts. Its all very... cynical and delightfully pretentious, to the effect I'm sure you were trying to get across. All in all, as simplistic as it was, I've grown quite fond of this.

The voice is probably the best part of this. The defining quality. Its so sardonic that I can't help but appreciate the dark tone and the folly that comes to mind when I read through this. And religion. Oh dear, that's a very touchy subject, darling. A touchy subject indeed, and nothing good ever comes of it. I know you are a Christian, but to see words like that in black and white for the world to see makes me wonder what you were trying to accomplish. Most Christian's would find this distasteful, I should think. As an Atheist, I'm thoroughly amused.

Once again, I'm digressing.

I am insanity
Yet people call me genius
Or common sense
Or the way out.


This is particularly my favorite part of the poem. In fact, it tells its own story quite abruptly, which is quite a bit nicer to look at than the first couple stanza's which I found to be a little wrongly placed next to such a strong, rather interesting ending. This stanza, though, spoke to me. And I enjoy it. I can't help agreeing with it, as well, even if the voice is mean't to be unreliable and, well, ultimately wrong. In fact, this is all so very deep. I'm drowning in it, my dear.

Now, I'm going to admit that I was not all that pleased with the first half of this poem. There were certain things that didn't quite appeal to the readers as well as I'm sure you would have hoped them to. Such as how the voice speaks of unknowing. I feared the cliche of this from the start until you took the voice somewhere completely different, but up until you did, you have a very blank, boring tone. A 'is this is, really?' voice, as opposed to a profound, interesting voice.

In any case, my fondness only seems to be growing. You've appealed to my ideologies, even if you didn't mean to.

~Walker
Suppose for a moment that the heart has two heads, that the heart has been chained and dunked in a glass booth filled with river water. The heart is monologuing about hesitation and fulfillment while behind the red brocade the heart is drowning. - R.S




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Points 5401
Reviews 72
there is a very strong sense of voice in this poem; that is to say there is only a sense of voice. I mean, the voice is well developed, the things the voice talks about are very dramatic sounding, but nothing physical happens. there is no action, no concrete image to illicit an emotional response.

it's okay to start out with the speaker talking, but every good poem should involve some kind of "turn" to keep things interesting. for example: if a poem starts out in a kitchen with a grandmother baking a cake, it should end up down the street, on the side of the train tracks, watching the cows chew grass curds. when a poem, like yours, starts out with the speaker talking about abstract things, it should end up with something concrete.

I hope this makes sense. let me know if you want me to elaborate.
First you will awake in disbelief, then
in sadness and grief and when you wake
the last time, the forest you've been
looking for will turn out to be
right in the middle of your chest.



rule #1 of being a potato: potatoes gotta defend their friends from negative self-talk
— Spearmint