Like a Fallen Angel

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A lore bearing under-earth employs my twin unnamed
As Satan’s standard-bearer
His yet un-vituperated Cane
When the battle cry was sounded
And the siren song was sung
The naive among the angels
Lashed irreverent tongues
Though they knew their Satanic vow
Would bleed a thousand wings
the raging anarchy within them
Roused their indignant rebel kings
Just as my rebellion brings my blood to boil
The black guardian within me execrates the power royal
So as angel blood soaks red the soil
And armed trumpets mark the days
I see the warriors of the brimstone
As my own violent haze

When the Satanic driving force
Of angels lost in rage
Fell to the arch of bending right
They turned to murkier a page
Because their cause was all for naught
Comfort now was solely sought
But in the carnal quest for fulfillment
They lost their angelic forms
And became the disfigured demons
Who hellfire alone can warm
I, a thousand times before
Have searched for corporal ground
But as the demons came to discern
The soil could not cap their crowns
It could not give them nor I
The right hand of the fates
Nor The predilection of the skies

Un burning now from lustful paths
Or from all consuming rage
The angels of the One Blackguard
Turn to more reliable a sage
Their hearts now charred and scorched as soot
Pound weakly from their fleshy rut
But they beat louder clearer
They any fiery terror
But their minds are clogged with fear
My heart is paralyzed with the fear
Of dissent of the power, their ears may hear
I am these angels, I am these beings
Though to be blind to this is not to lack all seeing
Because the ties that bind are hidden
But still powerful as strong as steel
We will burn together
But together we shall heal.




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Points 890
Reviews 8
Absolutley loved this, the ryhming was good but I think puncuation at the end and using more commas would deffenetly help with the flow of the poem.

They turned to murkier a page


Wouldn't this sound better >> They turned to a murkier page << I think that's what you meant anyway

Keep up the good work!
Last edited by Miss Slade on Sun Nov 23, 2008 6:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
You Cry, I Cry.
You Laugh, I Laugh.
You Jump Off Of A Cliff,
I Laugh... Even Harder.




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Points 890
Reviews 16
It was very hero/salvation type of poem nice read. It has sort of a mythological feel to it. It was great,

"But in the carnal quest for fulfillment

They lost their angelic forms

And became the disfigured demons

Who hellfire alone can warm"

Very beautifully put and I loved the last line ;)




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Points 1564
Reviews 181
This is an interesting poem filled with clever imagery in places and some great rhymes, but the main problem with it is that there's just too much to take in. It's my belief that poems should be heard and not read, and when you listen to it you have put in so many images that we lose your real message. What are you trying to say with this poem?

You could also do with some punctuation. When you read the poem, there aren't any commas or full stops except at the end to let the reader slow down, pause and think. However well-intentioned this was, we as readers can't understand you unless you give our eyes time to breathe and consider what you've said instead of skimming lightly down the page.

Lastly, please don't tout your poems in future as "beautiful" masterpieces written by yours truly. No matter how brilliant they might really be, it seems arrogant and self-serving.

Keep editing and redrafting and this poem will be great!

Thanks for reading,

Gahks
"Don't bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself." William Faulkner.

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Points 890
Reviews 253
This was pretty good. The imagery was great, very unique and sort of rhyme-y without being cheesy or kindergartenish. But, as Gahks said, there's just too much to take in. Its a lot of great big chunks of big words, and about halfway through it's kind of like "huh?" Very overwhelming. Cutting out, like, a third of this would greatly benefit it.
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Edna began to feel like one who awakens gradually out of a dream, a delicious, grotesque, impossible dream, to feel again the realities pressing into her soul.
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening