z

Young Writers Society


Genesis



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Points: 2952
Reviews: 136
Wed Sep 28, 2011 10:42 pm
Leahweird says...



A forest bathed in inky glistening night

Is suddenly bathed in what could have been the moon

As time collapses in on itself

A rosy, golden ribbon of dawn

Reaches out to embrace a thread of dusky bronze

As a lady passes in her majesty

With footsteps like the turning pages of a favourite story

She pauses to murmur in a voice comprised of quite moments

As she pauses to nurture the first breath of a blossoming idea

The trees lean to grasp what they can of her essence

And the very earth sighs to simply feel her presence

As she weaves her way off to somewhere brighter,

The wood remains

Forever made more brilliant by her grace
  





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Wed Sep 28, 2011 11:15 pm
Epicdonkalous says...



Wow, that is a really nice poem! I liked the majestic, yet oddly mysterious vibe it gave me. I adored your use of adjectives, I could literally picture "A rosy, golden ribbon of dawn"- which was one of my favorite lines. On the downside, I think that the flow of the poem was a little off, that if you didn't read it just right, it'd sound awkward. In the lines

"She pauses to murmur in a voice comprised of quite moments

As she pauses to nurture the first breath of a blossoming idea ", I think that you could have left out the "as she" and put a comma, which would give it a bit of a repitious feel, yet make the flow go smoother. For " the wood remains", all I think is that it needed a comma or period at the end, but other than that, I really enjoyed this! c:
"... syphon the white from my heart, lick the wine from my lips and enjoy the deconstruction of me"
  





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Thu Sep 29, 2011 1:49 am
June3 says...



I really enjoyed the flow of this piece, I liked how the ryming add even more flow (I'm awestruck because my ryming is terrible). Also, this was a very powerful peice, I think that every reader will be moved in some way when they read this poem. So, overall, this peom is great! Keep on writing!
There once was a women named Kent,
Whose nose was rather quite bent.
One day I suppose,
She followed her nose,
And nobody knows where she went.
-Unknown
  








Go in fear of abstractions.
— Ezra Pound