The Young Old One - Deleted

by Busheldood

Published March 30, 2011

In Poems

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Comments & reviews · 3
User avatar
housecat
Review
housecat wrote a review Review · Apr 25, 2011

Before you post something, it's best that you check your grammar. Boolovesyou already pointed that out thought.

Busheldood wrote:She walks down the street
Filled with loops and curves
Smiling at everyone she meets,
The guys wish they were hers

But she is a sacred treasure,
An endangered flower
Who is never to be measured,
Nor even devoured.

But she continues her stride
Always smiling, smiling, smiling I personally don't think that this should be repetitive. It makes it look kind of silly.
With her head held high
Never crying, crying, crying

For what once was her blessing
Has now become her curse - Why is there a dash here?
The screams she's always Suppressing -
Doomed to wander the earth

But she's a warrior inside,
A protector of peace
Trapped because of one lie,
Her battle for freedom has ceased

Now she no longer believes she's blessed,
No longer the knight,
But the damsel in distress
Defeated in her last fight

At first she was frustrated,
Annoyed by her weakness
The dilemma she had created,
The destruction of her own completeness

But now she is an Old One
Trapped in a younger body,
One she will never escape from
But will rise with potency

And still she lives on
As sexy as ever, This sounds somewhat... strange. Could you possibly consider writing beautiful or vibrant?
The oldest, Old One,
The young maiden forever


It wasn't a bad poem, but some of the rhymes were a little forced, and the rhythm needs some work. overall you have some talent, and keep writing! Practice makes perfect.

User avatar
Boolovesyou
Review
Boolovesyou wrote a review Review · Mar 30, 2011

Its good, I'm just going to point out some spelling errors.

But she is a sacred tresure,
An endangered flower
Who is never to be mesured
Nor even devourd

For what once was her blessing
Has now become her curse -
The screams she's always surpressing -
Doomed to wonder the earth

But she's a worrior inside,
A protector of peace
Trapped because of one lie,
Her battle for freedom has ceased

At first she was frustrated,
Annoyed by her weekness
The dilemma she had created,
The destruction of her own compleetness



Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.
— Marianne Moore