Voices

The birds, silhouettes spreading their wings,
take flight and dissolve into the evening.

Watching the vessels gliding across the sea,
a warm breeze embraces me as I began to sing.

The boy hears the voices, and turns,
only to be met by a faraway memory.

Gazing into the mysterious realm above,
I wave as he flies into the world of cerulean.

Searching the dreams orbiting this universe,
I tried to find the key to an unknown past.
Standing at the edge of sleep, I counted the stardust,
and let a foreign melody intertwine with my fingers.

A faint chant sounds in my ears-
it feels so familiar, yet so distant.

Bathing in starlight, I drift into a dream.
In a flash, a gale encloses me and shatters my song.

The boy appears and pulls me out of the whirlwind-
his wings are tattered and tipped with forlorn.

Our eyes meet, and time pauses in its steps,
as the spark of recognition ignites the lonely night.



To Cal & Lala

Hello there
You will forgive me but I did not understand some parts of the poem, but let me break it down.

The birds, silhouettes spreading their wings,
take flight and dissolve into the evening.

This was a great start. Great lines and greatly written.

And then after that, I get lost somewhere in the middle. The poem is called 'voices' but I do not pick up the relevance of the title with the poem. I just want to know what inspired this poem? It really sounds interesting,

Keep writing. Ziggie.

Hey Lil_Pau! I have to say, this is pretty cool. Your use of vivid, contrasting images makes for a rather epic lyrical poem. I can definitely tell that this is a love story of sorts (oh, I hope I'm not wrong; that would be embarrassing). One thing I would like to know (though it doesn't really affect the poem at all) is if these events are real or not. Meaning, do they literally take place in the stars or whatnot? Or are these places/events supposed to resemble something else?

Normally having these kinds of questions would annoy me and make me hate a poem or piece of prose, but that's not the case with yours. I feel like I should be asking these questions, and not knowing the answers to them feels just as fulfilling as figuring them out on my own.

Great job! I would love to read more.

-Knightley

Hullo there.

I liked this poem a terrible lot. For some reason, and oddly enough I believe that it was the serene and surreal ambiance of your affection for this piece shining through and not at all the type of poem this is, but this piece reminded me of haikus, ink and wash paintings, and calligraphy. Of intelligent and baffling architecture. Of nature tamed by man, but not broken.
How effective this poem was at toppling my defenses and taking over the controls to my imagination was very disorienting for me. I am not so easily completely gaga over good poetry as I used to become, but I am being completely sincere. I really think you have a gift, maybe not even just for poetry, but for the art of fables.
You see, I would not say that this is a very formal poem, and while it is written carefully and the words flow when read silently or aloud, I don't believe it to be 'superb.' But the really funny thing about really excellent writing is that it is not pretentious, showy, extravagant. There is nothing wrong with being wordy or challenging one's self at a more complicated and specific type of poem or pose - but there is something to be said for a writer who can let their work speak for itself. I think with saying that, I am telling you that in the mind, what came from you comes to life inside of me and tells a story to my heart, senses, curiosity. I am so impressed with your writing, because even when I went back and read it again, I could not immediately find the poem's subtle structure, or its source of ...song? And than I stopped trying so hard to dissect your poem, because why would I want to know its secret? Maybe I can just let the mystery be part of its charm, let what is good be good.

Thank you so much for sharing this...maybe you might think I am being over-encouraging or some silly other doubt, but I am sincere. You got it, silver-tongued fingers. A touch of magic.

Keep writing! I will keep an eye open for you.
-M.

I wave as he flies into the world of cerulean.

I love the imagery of this poem, very sensory-oriented, especially this line. I'd love to know what inspired this.

Kind of intense but simple in a way. I enjoyed it! The 4th part was my favorite although, I'm not sure why. It flowed so well! Very original.