poem about betrayal

I'm still working on a title for this poem so any suggestions would be great.
I wrote it with Shakespears play Julius Caeser in mind as it says he turned down the crown in the play (please correct me if I'm wrong, also I'm not trying to create an opinion of Caeser in this, I'm trying to make it quite neutral I would apreciate it if somebody could tell me is I have done so)

As I stand watching a modern Rome burn, buildings fall, soil turns,
I've returned only to be stabbed in the back, stabbed everywhere,
Caesers good intentions got him down, he turned down the crown,
To be a normal person, Thats me talking to you now,
All this help I've given, I'll never forget, And though i did well,
I can't help but regret. Why was i stopped by that eery sunset?
Like the blood red curtain calls and Caeser lies dead on the floor,
Method acting has payed its price, Caeser betrayed by his friends,
Who stand sneering, peering from the door.

And I'm Pablo Picasso, your heart I've touched with my art,
And in your heart I've painted in the cracks to keep it complete,
And with tears of anger, happiness and relief you weeped,
But now we swap places, and these tears are mine to keep,
Not for you to copy as you have my art, and critisice my ideology,
"So drink to me, Drink to my health, You know i can't drink anymore"
So drink until you've past out on the floor, yeah knock on the door,
And enter this church, I will by laying the waiting and I'm not Picasso,
But you'll never know while we're seperated by my coffin door.

I am me and that all i will be, through the gusting winds and stormy seas,
Which i swim through to get to away, but the problems always come back,
Your lies and hatred burn me, still your copying me, better.
I'm not an inspiration, probably never will be, but I am me,
And like you strive for understandind, opinion and popularity, I don't,
I'm still simlpy happy and misundestood, critisiced,
A tornado of thoughts and ideas, begging for company,
But the raging appearance scares people away,
They run for their house, safety, they lock their doors,

And I return to the insignifficance i was before.

The first poem I've posted on YWS

I don't like the large amount of commas or some i's left uncapped, and there were a few misspellings at the end, but whatever. I do know what you mean.
It perhaps could be more lovely shortened and sung as a song?
I really did enjoy this.
continue

By the way, you should call it 'the art of Julius'

I think there were some grammatical errors, but as they have already been mentioned I shall tell you what else I thought.
Amazing imagery and words, the different stanzas were beautifully done.

There were some errors (spelling, grammar, punctuation) but everyone makes mistakes. I really liked this poem. It has a nice rhythm. I have an idea about the title. I think you should call it: Betray Me, Forsake Me. It was the first thing that popped into my head. Keep it up.

Hey, hey! Shadow here! OK, so what's in red is my writing and corrections, what's underlined is what I'm saying needs to be changed in the poem.

caerauboy wrote:As I stand watching a modern Rome burn, buildings fall, soil turns,
I've returned only to be stabbed in the back, stabbed everywhere,
Caesers good intentions got him down, he turned down the crown,
To be a normal person, Thats me talking to you now,<--In this line, "thats" needs to be "that's"
All this help I've given, I'll never forget, And though i did well,<--"i" needs to be capital
I can't help but regret. Why was i stopped by that eery sunset?<--I think thay is supposed to be "every" And once again, "i" needs to be capital.
Like the blood red curtain calls and Caeser lies dead on the floor,
Method acting has payed its price, Caeser betrayed by his friends,
Who stand sneering, peering from the door.

And I'm Pablo Picasso, your heart I've touched with my art,
And in your heart I've painted in the cracks to keep it complete,
And with tears of anger, happiness and relief you weeped,<--”wept”
But now we swap places, and these tears are mine to keep,
Not for you to copy as you have my art, and critisice my ideology,<--”criticize”
"So drink to me, Drink to my health, You know i can't drink anymore"<--Once again, “i” should be “I”
So drink until you've past out on the floor, yeah knock on the door,
And enter this church, I will by laying the waiting and I'm not Picasso,
But you'll never know while we're separated by my coffin door. <--”Separated”

I am me and that all i will be, through the gusting winds and stormy seas,
Which i swim through to get to away, but the problems always come back,
Your lies and hatred burn me, still your copying me, better.
I'm not an inspiration, probably never will be, but I am me,
And like you strive for understandind, opinion and popularity, I don't, <--“understanding”
I'm still simlpy happy and misunderstood, critisiced, <--“simply” “misunderstood” and “criticized”
A tornado of thoughts and ideas, begging for company,
But the raging appearance scares people away,
They run for their house, safety, they lock their doors,


And I return to the insignifficance i was before.<--Once again, "i" needs to be capital.

OK, I loved this poem, but I noticed there is a lot of spelling mistakes in here. There's a "Check Spelling" button on the top right corner of the text box if you're typing it on here. Hit that button, and it'll spell check it for you. If you're using something else, you might want to find the spell check button if it doesn't automatically check it. Just a little hint.
Well, it didn't really flow good to me, but not all poems have to flow. It did make sence, and you did make your point clear. Very good!
If you need me to review anything else, just shoot me a PM and I'll take a look at it!

~xX~Forsakinshadow~Xx~

Hi careauboy -

I won't comment on the specific punctuation etc errors, since I think that's been well covered already. However, I did find something interesting about this poem - the tone. While the length of the lines, and the semirhymes appear to make it seem pompous, dramatic, epic and purposeful, there is a very colloquial feel to it, a very street-feel to the layer that simmers just below the surface of the poem.

Lines like, 'That's me talking to you now,' 'Who stand sneering, peering from the door,' 'So drink until you've past out on the floor, yeah knock on the door,' give the poem a distinctly mocking edge, as if you are now looking back on the course of events and want to highlight the futility of them. I mean, on the one hand, we have a solid, old-fashioned sort of a piece, a remake of Shakespeare, an essay on the human condition, while on the other, we have this sense of modernity, of looking back, of scoffing at reality as it was in history. Not sure if that's what you intended, but I thought I'd mention it anyway, since it is such a bizarre combination of emotions - one that I have rarely seen. In a sense, then, well done on that kind of originality.

In a way, the near-slang of this kind of makes Shakespeare seem upbeat and cool, you know? Like using ghetto talk to get a point across, but still retaining a sense of poeticism by following some conventions of poetry. Weird. So. Some specific comments on lines:

As I stand watching a modern Rome burn, buildings fall, soil turns,

'Modern' - a great word to use here. And 'buildings fall, soil turns' - likewise dramatic. Creates a resonance to the poem, a sense of control.

And I'm Pablo Picasso, your heart I've touched with my art

Interesing internal rhyme.

And with tears of anger, happiness and relief you weeped,
But now we swap places, and these tears are mine to keep,

The listing of emotions...I don't like this. Too essay-like. Not real enough; sort of like the fact that the poem is so grounded in reality and the physical world that throwing in emotions in this manner appears superficial, too abstract.

I am me and that all i will be, through the gusting winds and stormy seas,
Which i swim through to get to away, but the problems always come back,
Your lies and hatred burn me, still your copying me, better.
I'm not an inspiration, probably never will be, but I am me,
And like you strive for understandind, opinion and popularity, I don't,
I'm still simlpy happy and misundestood, critisiced,

I didn't appreciate the rather emo-sounding directness here - 'I am me and that all I will be...your lies and hatred...simply happy and misunderstood.' It's alright, in a sense, to be colloquial, so long as you're being interestingly colloquial and not spouting angsty teenage cliches, which is all I am seeing here. This stanza could be smoothened out, made less emotive and more physical, I think. It'd have greater impact that way.

Anyway, thanks for the read. PM me if you've got questions.


Navita

I really hate the large scale commas and words you made... hmm...

caerauboy wrote:I'm still working on a title for this poem so any suggestions would be great.
I wrote it with Shakespears play Julius Caeser in mind as it says he turned down the crown in the play (please correct me if I'm wrong, also I'm not trying to create an opinion of Caeser in this, I'm trying to make it quite neutral I would apreciate it if somebody could tell me is I have done so)

As I stand watching a modern Rome burn, buildings fall, soil turns,
I've returned only to be stabbed in the back, stabbed everywhere,
Caesers good intentions got him down, he turned down the crown,
To be a normal person, Thats me talking to you now,
All this help I've given, I'll never forget, And though i did well,
I can't help but regret. Why was i stopped by that eery sunset?
Like the blood red curtain calls and Caeser lies dead on the floor,
Method acting has payed its price, Caeser betrayed by his friends,
Who stand sneering, peering from the door.

And I'm Pablo Picasso, your heart I've touched with my art,
And in your heart I've painted in the cracks to keep it complete,
And with tears of anger, happiness and relief you weeped,
But now we swap places, and these tears are mine to keep,
Not for you to copy as you have my art, and critisice my ideology,
"So drink to me, Drink to my health, You know i can't drink anymore"
So drink until you've past out on the floor, yeah knock on the door,
And enter this church, I will by laying the waiting and I'm not Picasso,
But you'll never know while we're seperated by my coffin door.

I am me and that all i will be, through the gusting winds and stormy seas,
Which i swim through to get to away, but the problems always come back,
Your lies and hatred burn me, still your copying me, better.
I'm not an inspiration, probably never will be, but I am me,
And like you strive for understandind, opinion and popularity, I don't,
I'm still simlpy happy and misundestood, critisiced,
A tornado of thoughts and ideas, begging for company,
But the raging appearance scares people away,
They run for their house, safety, they lock their doors,

And I return to the insignifficance i was before.

The first poem I've posted on YWS