A Memoir

A simpleton once tricked himself
And thought that he could read.
He read himself to death
And 'ventually did become a seed.
In that lifeless form the seed began to drink.
Intoxicated 'n growing this tree began to think.

Branches and leaves towered
Up to the heavens,
While shrouded, dark roots
Burrowed to hell.

Greater was this tree than any other before,
Though not much fruit did he bear, nor
Would, nor was sought to show himself
More.
He chose not to swive himself
Like they the swine--themselves growing
Beside him.
Fraudulent and rotting
These self-proclaimed
Gods spent
Their time pissing on one another.
Eating their own shit and vomit,
They buggered and bit
And covered my earth
With discomposure.

Something happened
'Ov revelation.

This tree then did find
Himself to be just as every other kind
Thinks of
Themselves.

We're all so
Unique, Extraordinary, Righteous, and Elevated
In our
Psyches, memory, consciousness, and own head.

But it happens
To be that
We truly
Are not.

The rhyming in the first stanza was weak, but up until it got to the fourth line, I was very much so intrigued.

A simpleton once tricked himself
And thought that he could read.
He read himself to death

I felt that this was very, very well-written and set very high standards for this poem.

Greater was this tree than any other before,
Though not much fruit did he bear, nor
Would, nor was sought to show himself

this was particularily confusing and difficult to read/understand. I had to read it twice before I could somewhat make sense of it.

After this point, it was slighlty abrupt but there were some good points such as

Something happened
'Ov revelation.

and my personal favorite part of the poem,

This tree then did find
Himself to be just as every other kind
Thinks of
Themselves.

also, the part about "Eating their own shit and vomit..." was rather obnoxious in a very unpoetic way. However, perhaps that's what you were going for.

Overall, it was a very unique piece of work and if happens to carry some deeper meaning that apparently went way over my head, I would suggest you preface it by providing a guide or summary of some sort.

The rhyming killed it. Like it does in many poems. It is a sick and twisted demon, a black sword that stabs and lurks in newbie poems, preying on musings of a writer and slicing through it verse by verse by verse.

However some writers seize the black sword and tame the demon, they force it to do their bidding. Sadly, these are experianced knights with years of passion boiling at their fingertips.

This story is a critique. Beware of the Black Sword of Rhyme.


Adam

Ha ha. Black Sword of Rhyme. That was rather melodramatic. But you have a point.

I basically agree with Phorcys about this poem: rhyme can beautiful, but sometimes it just messes up the poem. This wasn't bad, though, it was very original.

Keep writing.