You Won't Surprised (to Find Me Gone)

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**


You won’t be surprised
To find me gone.
So well you know that part of me that,
Won’t sit still.
I’ll leave you in the morning
When the light is blue,
And soft,
And you’ll look so kind and ordinary
Sleeping in our bed.
You won't find me,
But will you look?

And I’ll keep walking
And walking
For standing still is like-
Hands letting slip
The fine kite string.
I can’t let go. I can’t let go-
But I’ll look over my shoulder
For you.
Who would keep these memories?
There’s no one else who knows them.

And I’ll leave my heart
In you hands.
You won't know what to do with it
But-
Oh, you loved me.
All the stars did see us.
And just beyond the farther sun
I’ll stop and breathe a while.

Let down the light as though it were a curtain.
I’ll leave the dawn behind me,
I was not built for
Daylight.
But what of feet on land, of time and earth and ages?
There are no heavens left to conquer.
I have metal wings.
Won’t you wake and watch me-
Leave?
I am small, so very small,
In the arms of waiting space.
Won’t you wake and watch me-
Leave? I am leaving.
I have metal wings.



***
[Just to be clear, PoV = Aela, the girl in my main story project - see 'Present Tense' for context, if curious, but (i hope) it isn't necessary for your understanding.]




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Sabine--


Perhaps as an MC workshop activity, this is fine, but as a poem, it suffers all the trappings indicative of beginner's work--useless repetition of overwrought phrases (endemic of writers who suppose it somehow drives something home), repetition of theme and lack of development of narrative structure and voice.

Like I said, maybe as an MC workshop, this is okay, but it fails to succeed as anything other than that.


Take care,
Brad
"If I have not seen as far as others, it is because giants were standing on my shoulders." -Hal Abelson




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what's and MC workshop?

Anyway---

Oh, yes I know. It's utter dreck! 'And I'll leave my heart in your hands...' Seriously who *writes* that. I will not try to defend it in the least. Also I never thought I would be one of those people, you know those ones who wright poems for their characters.

The problem is, I'm *not* a beginner, I've been doing this for *years.* Time was, I could actually turn a phrase. Now? not so much.

I only really posted this so someone would tell me everything wrong with it, since I seem to have lost which way's up, lyrically speaking.

do you suppose you could be more specific?



Light griefs are loquacious, but the great are dumb.
— Seneca