The Forbidden City

[I will leave the meaning to be guessed until the end, when I'll explain some things. But crits are welcome, encouraged, etc.]

The Forbidden City
East of the gates of a forbidden city,
lies a ribbon of red-gold,
entwined with the pale fixtures of nobility, wealth,
the hate that is inevitable.

They led me up the steps
and showed me through the courtyard,
wrapping my arms with solid lies,
cold degradation, and
a pallid form of shame.

While my tears dried in the midnight wind,
the windows of the city glowed with
a thousand moonlit faces—
eerie, taunting,
holding out pinkish palms, whispering menaces.

—and I catch a fleeting glimpse,
through the emptiness of a hall, where
the souls of emperors have been framed—
a ghost of a child,
enmeshed with the fabrics of the bamboo,
reaching,
weeping,
wanting.

The place, it closes, dances on the edge of insanity,
when the amorphous distortions of the night come a-haunting,
and the mask of lid-less eyes that shaped the child’s face,
looms.

But they have clutched my fingers,
broken my integrity,
thrown my bad light in disproportions.
They have locked the gates of the Forbidden City,
and the claws of my dragon, embedded in my chest, hits the floor.

Hey Evangelina. I must say that I'm pleasantly impressed.

entwined with the pale fixtures of nobility and wealth,
the hate that is inevitable.

I would drop the last line and perhaps replace it with something more tangible.

wrapping my arms with solid lies,
cold degradation, and
a pallid form of shame.

Ditto here. The words "lies", "degredation", and "shame" don't give us solid examples. I highly suggest giving us a physical example of what caused these abstractions. Did the Emperor kill peasants at some point? Did the nobility betray the Emperor? Some other atrocity? Sate our curiosity over what actually happened and we'll love you for it.

and I catch a fleeting glimpse,
through the emptiness of a hall, where
the souls of emperors have been framed—
a ghost of a child,
enmeshed with the fabrics of the bamboo,

*Shivers* Creepy. I really liked these lines.

reaching,
weeping,
wanting.

I'd keep "reaching" and ditch the other two.

The place, it closes, dances on the edge of insanity,
when the amorphous distortions of the night come a-haunting,
and the mask of lid-less eyes that shaped the child’s face,
looms.

I say dump most of this stanza. It's abstract and I don't feel it adds much. If you wanted to work with the images it would make for a possible edit.

But they have clutched my fingers,
broken my integrity,
thrown my bad light in disproportions.
They have locked the gates of the Forbidden City,
and the claws of my dragon, embedded in my chest, hit[s]s[/s] the floor.

The first three lines of this stanza are weak, but the last two very strong. The "message" that you were talking about would better serve being in the poem than a mystery. I think you should work them into the second stanza for great impact. Best of luck on the editing.

nice poem!

—and I catch a fleeting glimpse,
through the emptiness of a hall, where
the souls of emperors have been framed—
a ghost of a child,
enmeshed with the fabrics of the bamboo,
reaching,
weeping,
wanting.

Scary but very cool.

i enjoyed the poem and you have great discription!

keep on writing poems like this!

Five stars to you! A great poem as well as an example of free verse.

Not bad. I really enjoyed it.

—and I catch a fleeting glimpse,
through the emptiness of a hall, where
the souls of emperors have been framed—
a ghost of a child,
enmeshed with the fabrics of the bamboo,
reaching,
weeping,
wanting.

Really nice. I loved this.

While my tears dried in the midnight wind,
the windows of the city glowed with
a thousand moonlit faces—
eerie, taunting,
holding out pinkish palms, whispering menaces.

You have no problem of describing a poem and a place. I love this.

You are really good and I can't wait for more of your works.

Thank you all so very much!

This sounds like something that would turn out to be a brilliant novel. Each stanza has its own meaning, putting them together creats the story. I especially loved:

—and I catch a fleeting glimpse,
through the emptiness of a hall, where
the souls of emperors have been framed—
a ghost of a child,
enmeshed with the fabrics of the bamboo,
reaching,
weeping,
wanting.

The place, it closes, dances on the edge of insanity,
when the amorphous distortions of the night come a-haunting,
and the mask of lid-less eyes that shaped the child’s face,
looms.

Because this brings up such a lovely picture of someone looking into the night sky and seeing a far off land, perhaps even wanting to be there.