Ode for a Requiem

An unrequited happenstance,
be it of lingering importance
upon both mantles, nonetheless:
a speed bump on the road of self-discovery.

a mind is like an amoeba
it seeks and ever devours
with tendrils, resemblances;
reflections that move on their own.

the dead find warmth not in the dead
who are akin in their darkness,
memories breed not pulses; for in the end
the living are the light.

the savior sought lepers,
the artist craves battle,
fantasy finds the beaurocrat,
the concubine: a home.

mourn not the littering of limbs
across the landscape of lunatic ideals,
for fire knows not why it burns;
forever deprived the fertility of its passing.

Ok, so I'll be the first to admit I didn't really get your whole poem. Which might just be because your target audience isn't 16 year old girls, or it might be a bit abstract in some parts. I'll review it anyway.

BarrettBenedict wrote:An unrequited happenstance,
be it of lingering importance
upon both mantles, nonetheless:
a speed bump on the road of self-discovery.
speed bump? That totally doesn't fit with the rest of the poem

a mind is like an amoeba
it seeks and ever devours
with tendrils, resemblances;
reflections that move on their own.

My main problem with this stanza is the amoeba similie. An amoeba is a single celled organisim. It doesn't have resemblances, reflections, in fact I don't even know if it has tendrils! So it basically falls flat. It's ok to compare two different things, but they must have at least a spark of similarity. Otherwise you're just talking out your ass. No offence.

the dead find warmth not in the dead
who are akin in their darkness,
memories breed not pulses; for in the end
the living are the light.

Love this stanza. The abrupt ending is better than the long last lines of the other previous stanzas. Gives it a snap!

the savior sought lepers,
the artist craves battle,
fantasy finds the beaurocrat,
the concubine: a home. Didn't get what this stanza was on about. Maybe I'm missing something, but it seems not to relate to anything else in the poem

mourn not the littering of limbs
across the landscape of lunatic ideals,
for fire knows not why it burns;
forever deprived the fertility of its passing.
[b]Last line let down syndome. Got to make the last line the best, the most memorable line.

I liked it and you did a good job at bringing some emotion into a very wordy poem. However, I can't shake this feeling that it could have been brilliant instead of simply good.

It is brilliant, I don't know what poem you're reading Trust me, I know the importance of an ending, read the last two lines again, ponder them if you must.

If it's so brilliant, then you obviously don't need my opinion. Sorry I wasted my time.

Your critique was most helpful, but it didn't make me chuckle nearly as much as your righteous indignation at my quips. You don't have to be so serious, I'm seriously starting to think that at any minute you're going to choke a clown.

I guess tone of voice is hard to get over the internet. I must have misread arrogance in your reply.

Yeah, I'm sorry about that actually, that's why I added the to try to convey the fact that basically everything I say is in good humor. I really do appreciate the fact that you read my poem, and took the time to think it over and give me an honest critique.