Bliss of Day

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The leaves rustle beneath my feet,
the same with the wind and the trees.
The breeze of summers kiss blows
and I stay my feet a moment.

I let the air cores my body
giving me a feeling of serenity.
Buds of flowers begin to bloom
and everything comes to life.

The leaves create a green shield
concealing all of earth's wonders,
but nothing can be kept from my eye.
Those wonders shall be known.

Birds of blue and red begin to sing,
a tune sweet to heart and soul.
I find a nest,
they sing for the new born.

I smile as beauty moves around me,
all to which I am still.
I feel blessed, but I must go on
the bliss of day shall soon be night.
I will always fight back, no matter what.




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Overall, it's pretty, but not super-memorable. I feel almost like I've read this before. It's not horrible, it's just boring. Words like "beauty", "heart", "soul", and "wonders" are pretty much meaningless. Show me what's beautiful and wondrous instead of just telling me that it is. You had the right idea going in the first stanza with some imagery (although "I stay my feet a moment" doesn't make sense.) Now expand upon that. Tell me more about the flowers, the birds, the leaves. What color? How do they smell? What does the tune make you think of? What does the nest look like? Tidy? Sloppy? Small? Large? What kind of birds are they? Robins? Eagles? Pigeons? Really think about what you are trying to express, and you will sound much more original.

A secondary comment: I doubt the air was actually drilling a hole through your body. Perhaps you meant "caress"?

Keep writing!
"You do ill if you praise, but worse if you censure, what you do not understand." Leonardo Da Vinci

<YWS><R1>




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I loved this. It calmed me down because today was so freaking weird. Well anyways it was beautiful.
True love, in all it’s celestial charm, and
star-crossed ways, only exist in a writer’s
mind, for humans have not yet learned
how to manifest it.



What is a poet? An unhappy person who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music.
— Søren Kierkegaard, Philosopher & Theologian