Dead Magic.

Hey everyone, this is just a peom I felt like writing the other day, needs edits! suggestions please?

Dead Magic.

Her nimble fingers weave magic
The delicate creators of a web so fine,
Spun in gold through night and day
A flourishing art, are but the remains of labour unkind

She weeps quietly in the darkness, a heart heavy with sorrow
As a rushing sea of crimson swims upon her work
The shadows grow into towering creatures
Prowling in a sullen place, a place where little girls should not be

“Save me” She whines as her magic is lost
And the golden web unravels time
Illusion and rhyme are all that is left,
Reality but a bundle of lies

Should we weep for those in shackles?
Bound with no liberty?
And there her frail small body gives way,
Meeting a ground so unwelcoming...

The master adorned in riches and lust
Cries out in anger as the crimson sea flows.
His eyes swimming with greed
Search the girl as she pleads, begging for mercy

“Oh Lord” She screams in despair
Her bruised back collapsing
“How dare you, you infantile!” cries the master again
Why had such a sweet young girl been destined to hell?

He draws out a whip and she seeks her escape
In a world full of fantasy with princes and castles
She smiles faintly and then falls to the blackness
And those nimble fingers weave not magic now…

EmmaGrayce wrote:Hey everyone, this is just a peom I felt like writing the other day, needs edits! suggestions please?

Dead Magic.

Her nimble fingers weave magic
The delicate creators of a web so fine,
Spun in gold through night and day
A flourishing art, are but the remains of labour unkind

She weeps quietly in the darkness, a heart heavy with sorrow
As a rushing sea of crimson swims upon her work
The shadows grow into towering creatures
Prowling in a sullen place, a place where little girls should not be

“Save me” She whines as her magic is lost
And the golden web unravels time
Illusion and rhyme are all that is left,
Reality but a bundle of lies

Should we weep for those in shackles?
Bound with no liberty?
And there her frail small body gives way,
Meeting a ground so unwelcoming...

The master adorned in riches and lust
Cries out in anger as the crimson sea flows.
His eyes swimming with greed
Search the girl as she pleads, begging for mercy

“Oh Lord” She screams in despair
Her bruised back collapsing
“How dare you, you infantile!” cries the master again
Why had such a sweet young girl been destined to hell?

He draws out a whip and she seeks her escape
In a world full of fantasy with princes and castles
She smiles faintly and then falls to the blackness
And those nimble fingers weave not magic now…

Okay, the last bit slightly freaked me out, but if i had to figure it out, im guessing its the vision of a daydream a girl is having, while in a mill.

Good Writing!

Geronimo!

EmmaGrayce wrote:Hey everyone, this is just a peom I felt like writing the other day, needs edits! suggestions please?

Dead Magic.

Her nimble fingers weave magic
The delicate creators of a web so fine,
Spun in gold through night and day
A flourishing art, are but the remains of labour unkind

She weeps quietly in the darkness, a heart heavy with sorrow
As a rushing sea of crimson swims upon her work
The shadows grow into towering creatures
Prowling in a sullen place, a place where little girls should not be

“Save me” She whines as her magic is lost
And the golden web unravels time
Illusion and rhyme are all that is left,
Reality but a bundle of lies

Should we weep for those in shackles?
Bound with no liberty?
And there her frail small body gives way,
Meeting a ground so unwelcoming...

The master adorned in riches and lust
Cries out in anger as the crimson sea flows.
His eyes swimming with greed
Search the girl as she pleads, begging for mercy

“Oh Lord” She screams in despair
Her bruised back collapsing
“How dare you, you infantile!” cries the master again
Why had such a sweet young girl been destined to hell?

He draws out a whip and she seeks her escape
In a world full of fantasy with princes and castles
She smiles faintly and then falls to the blackness
And those nimble fingers weave not magic now…

*smiles* great!!

Beautiful
You really put images in my head.
Keep on writing poetry xx

This is amazing. Its really interesting when you imagine it like a movie. The Poem is beautiful and creative.
Great Job!

This is a seriously good poem. But i could make a few adjustments...
"A flourishing art, are but the remains of labour unkind"
This line sort of ruins the flow of the rest of it. You could rewrite it as:
"A flourishing art, but the remains of labour unkind"
This stanza is one of the best out of the whole thing, great rythym and flow!
"She weeps quietly in the darkness, a heart heavy with sorrow
As a rushing sea of crimson swims upon her work
The shadows grow into towering creatures
Prowling in a sullen place, a place where little girls should not be
“Save me” She whines as her magic is lost
And the golden web unravels time
Illusion and rhyme are all that is left,
Reality but a bundle of lies"

You could probably delete the word "small" it's kind of a distraction.
"Should we weep for those in shackles?
Bound with no liberty?
And there her frail body gives way,
Meeting a ground so unwelcoming..."

This is such a sad poem, does it have anything to do with child slavery?

Hello. Looking at the poem theres a few changes that i'd do. They're not neccersairly a critizism, but, what my personal opinion and thought is on it.

EmmaGrayce wrote:Dead Magic.

Her nimble fingers weave magic,
The delicate creators of a web so fine, - i <3 the way this flows.
Spun in gold throughout night and day.
A flourishing art, is but the remains of labour unkind.

She weeps quietly in the darkness, a heart heavy with sorrow,
As a rushing sea of crimson swims upon her work.
The shadows grow into towering creatures,
Prowling in a sullen place, a place where little girls should'nt be.

“Save me” She whines as her magic is lost,
And the golden web unravels time.
Illusion and rhyme are all that is left,
Reality but a bundle of lies -dont like the sound of this stanza. it doesn't go along with the rest of the poem

Should we weep for those in shackles?
Bound with no liberty?**
And there her frail small body gives way,
Meeting a ground so unwelcoming...** - this two ** ruin this stanza. They are good lines, alas, they do not go together well due to the length of them. It ruins the flow that is created in making a poem and ruins the dark and passionate atmosphere that is created.
The master adorned in riches and lust
Cries out in anger as the crimson sea flows. -does this link to the first mention of 'crimson flowing'? This is a good link, it captivates you, knowing that the story of the girl is continouing.
His eyes swimming with greed
Search the girl as she pleads, begging for mercy. -good rhyming!

“Oh Lord!” She screams in despair,
Her bruised back collapsing.
“How dare you, you infantile!” cries the master again
Why had such a sweet young girl, been destined to hell? -again, the structure doens't blend well with me.

He draws out a whip and she seeks her escape
In a world full of fantasy with princes and castles - you, again, revert from the normal setup from your stanzas. you go from long, short, long, long. to long, long, long, long. then to long, short, long short; In an utterly random order.
She smiles faintly and then falls to the blackness
And those nimble fingers weave not magic now… - sounds a tad iffy, I'd say 'do not weave' or 'weave no magic'

Overall, i pretty like this poem. It has a pleasent (while at the same time, not being pleasent) fantasy element and you do actually feel for the girl. Well done, next time, try to stabalize your stanzas and if you are going to change the structure of each one, then make sure it flows well.

~Nova.

yes it is about child slavery, more precisely the kids who weave carpets and such