Eyes that like the pools within our souls,
house all absolutes.
They have a way of looking both composed and grave,
the way minds can be unconscious and quiet.
Where everything had been, is now, and shall always be lying.
Long have perceptions been yielding their evening sacrifice of incense,
burning with the light of red jewels and furnace flames.
They can look soft and still softer over half heavens,
deep views are their own modest gem.
They would challenge the moon if not always caught beneath the horizon.
Antique gardens are not as pleasant,
no knots of flowers who's fragrances wished to be admired could hold such pleasure
as when a sigh could awaken deep secluded recesses of a heart.
Where touches can untouch and glide into old wounds like thorns and warm water.
It can be in all ways,
always to sudden.
Shines to make us blind to it.
Cling to as if we lost it,
When lips gently graze lips they can by chance form unimagined oaths in the silence.
Like strings under the left side of ribs becoming tight and inextricably knotted.
It owes no further explanation,
more than just fitful passions that it would claim shivers in the heart.
Sometimes the heart resents its own resilience.
Falling is what it loves,
and we let it drop like snowflakes:
slowly and uniquely.
It would kiss our flushed faces from a place only half believed and entirely unknown.
Begetting prayers that would wander up rayless minds as something that would whisper:
If you had been, let you never be what you once were.
If you had died, let this be your second life.
If they are absolutes, let your eyes be certain in your certainty when they gaze
into modest waters.
It is a wonder that one could hold in imagination so closely an image,
that the actual presence is scarcely missed.
It is an experience that is more expansive than I can comprehend.
As much depth as the sea to which the brook runs.
I sometimes wonder why moralists call this world a dreary wilderness;
for it blossoms like roses.
"I love you,"
the words have not died so inarticulately on lips.
I hear them clear and soft,
perhaps to solemn a thought but, still sweet as music.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
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125,005 Literary Works • 672,805 Reviews
Again, reviewed for your viewing pleasure. Hopefully these changes will allow for more complimenting aspects.
Thank you for your sentiments and hopefully looking forward to publishing another soon.
Firstly, welcome to the site (though I'm three days late). Secondly, this is a wonderful poem, its sound like a ballad and something Shakespeare would never be able to do because he did tragedies. Your poem is sweet and very deep. It has a great, solemn tone. And the only mistake I see which may not be a mistake is this "In can be all ways, always to sudden". I think the "to" should have been "too". That is all. Keep writing, your poems are lovely.
Hello again, AndrewRayne,
To me, this is where the poem really started. It reminds me a bit of Neruda in the way it brings all the colors and smells together in a single image. You don't really need an introduction to it. I think you should let it sing for itself.This is the best I have read from you yet. You let it come out slowly and beautifully, like the scent of a rosebush in the garden outside the window.
There are a few grammatical errors hiding in here, but I'm not going to go into that in detail, as you're obviously intelligent and can do your own copy editing.
I think you should break this one up a little. It's long, and the modifiers feel collaged together. Not that collages are a bad thing. I just think that it's a bit too much collaging in this case.
Altogether, this is lovely. As always, watch out for wordiness and try to cut some out. I hope that this review proves useful to you! Happy YWSing!
Of course, again appreciate the critique. I was thinking the same thing
Hello! I'll do my best to write a helpful review, but there's not really anything that needs to be corrected (in my opinion at least)!
At first glance I thought this might have been a short story. The long sentences definitely represent one and it didn't seem to be set out like a poem. But I found out that it was a poem when reading the description and that changed a lot about the way I read it. I'm only pointing this out because the way you read a poem matters. If I'd kept thinking it was a short story, I would have read fast and zoomed through it, missing out on the slow emphasis of poems. Luckily I realised and as I read it, the words flowed perfectly.
I love you has not died so inarticulately on lips.
This is my only nitpick. I love you needs to be put in italics, or in speech marks. Otherwise the reader merges it with the rest of the sentence.
Your imagery is great and very easy to picture in my mind's eye. You use formal words, yet they aren't too complicated. It's a beautiful poem. Fix that one nitpick I found and I reckon it'll be quite perfect.
Thank you kindly.
I'll consider the sentiment on structure.