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12+ Violence

Lying on the Forest Floor

by Frinderman

Conscious; I open my eyes to a familiar canvas.

The beautiful song of a young girl as I lie on the forest’s floor,

staring up at the twinkling sunlight filtering through the summer trees.

To which that calm melody now merely saturates my ears with irony.

What a pitiful mess I have become, living a life without innocence.


A full moon on a chilly late summers night,

I had been consumed in my own insanity.

A blazing inferno of a darkening bloody pathos

as I slashed relentlessly at the black of night.

Never had I been so fiery and yet so frigid simultaneously;

If there was sound, I heard not of it, as all was a blur of red and black.


I only came to my senses when I saw it;

the thick oozing stream, trickling in the moonlight.

I stood erect in the full moon, unable to rip away my gaze from my stained hands

as droplets of sorrow fell from my cheeks to join the comforting river of warm crimson.

Paralysis; my entire being ice cold, but that of freeze-dry, for my skin still burned red within its frost

until I recognized my absence and loss of a once beautiful innocence,

to which my mind and spirit began to melt in the angering flames of an azure sea.

All had then imploded into a void within my chest as my mouth choked on syllables of sorrow.

The mourning groan of death and grief reverberated throughout the forest

as its melody shifted germane to the cruel fate of my guilt.


However there were two streams glistening in that midnight glow, so I was justified—right?


Justification no longer had any use to me; she was still dead, but

he was merely dead as well—both dead because of my mistakes.

But this could not have had justification anyways,

after examining the shear brutality of my rage.

Ninety-seven; that is,

the amount of stains—the amount of holes—the number of times—I stabbed him.

That was of course, the damage before I unconsciously discarded that wretched blade.


It had left a sound I will never forget, not one to be heard but one to feel resonate in my veins;

is it that of separation on a chopping board? No—more like that of a rock scraping a chalkboard?

That is still not quite right; it was something far more revolting in between; still it was murder.

A crunching slosh of slicing and scraping—as motion was occasionally interrupted by the impact of marrow.


A night of bloody pleasure; the demon inside me had finally won.


She was my heart and soul—she was my life,

and he took her away from me that night, in a flash of gun smoke and envy.

This however, wasn’t our intended fate, as Azrael resented my evasion.

In a final act of devotion—my love took my place in the cecity of fire.

All in that moment was of an andante, as though God Himself was so moved to have paused,

that He may witness the unthinkable from my own eyes; her full hearted smile.

That of unparalleled love and faith, she let evil shred the walls of her heart that it would not reach mine.

He had shot the heart she had given me and as she bled, the forest gave its respects in blissful silence.


After having destroyed my Heart however, he had also let collapse the mercy I had built up for so long.

Without a heart one could not have had feeling anymore; all had become numb as I returned the favor.

Though I am in doubt I will never forgive him, I know I will never forgive myself for that night.

In an instance I had become crippled by my own darkness and realized the cruel truth of my mind;

I had feared nothing but God until the night I met myself.


One necklace; that and memories are all I have left of that love,

but I will live on for her knowing she will always be with me in them.

In a clearing only we know, my love now rests on a blanket of lilies

besides a great oak, to which I haven’t returned since.


That night a beautiful young rose died in my arms

in a forest we knew well to be full of secrets.

Now merely another recollection, I lie on the forest’s floor, staring up

at the blue expanse through the tree canape as time moves forward.


As the melody begins to fade, one last verse rings in my ears;

Goodbye my love, I will wait for you here.

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38 Reviews

Points: 102
Reviews: 38

Sat Dec 03, 2016 3:47 am
ElvenJedi wrote a review...

Heya, this is Jedi! Here to write a review! I absolutely LOVE this, but there are some grammatical mistakes I couldn't help but notice: throughout the poem, as in the title, you use lay, or laying, instead of lie or lying. Saying "I was laying on the forest floor" is like saying you were laying SOMETHING down. So you would use these for what you were talking about: lie=present tense; lay=past tense. Anyway, I also found that not every line begins with a capitalized letter. It is more proper for a poem to have the first letter of every line capitalized. For some poems there is an exception because it was meant that way, but I don't think that is the case with this beautiful, emotional piece of work. Also, it is incorrect to say "Conscious, as I open my eyes to a familiar canvas," but instead it would be more correct to omit the "as" to make "Conscious, I open my eyes to a familiar canvas." Other than that it is a wonderful sentence, and I especially like the use of "canvas". And in the last line of the second stanza, I don't quite know what you mean by, "I heard not of if as all was a blur". Perhaps you made a spelling mistake? I think more sense would be, "I heard none of it, as all was a blur." Other than that, I have no more suggestions!
Things I liked: I found that it was easy to connect with the character (not saying I murdered someone xD) and to feel her emotions alongside her. I felt the sorrow and remorse along with the character, along at the horror at what she herself had done. Very well done, as this can be a hard thing to achieve, especially in a poem when one doesn't have time to get to know the character. Wonderful piece of art! Keep it up!
P.S. I would change the options for this poem and rate it for violence in consideration to our younger readers!

Frinderman says...

Thank you for the help. The story is told by a boy however and you were right that "if" was a misspelling, it was correct at first but when I reincorporated some lines I had taken out (the violent ones, as Kaos had noticed the poem was missing some description) I forgot to fix a few mistakes from the original. Other then that I really appreciate your thoughts!

ElvenJedi says...

glad I could help! I really liked this poem, but now it is even better perfected! It is a very well-written work of literature! Well done!

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126 Reviews

Points: 344
Reviews: 126

Fri Dec 02, 2016 5:08 am
Aleta wrote a review...

I loved how the poem was first going, those first two lines made me feel at peace. But then the last line kind of struck me. I knew it was going to go bad. I like what you did there. Here we have this bright sun, a lovely forest and now the moonlight and the dark and the blood. The mood of the poem contrasts well with the speaker. The rose seemed pretty symbolic. Good touch there. I was surprised when it switched back to the blue sky because I had not realized it was a memory until that part. I like it. Well done. Very well done.

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103 Reviews

Points: 2935
Reviews: 103

Thu Dec 01, 2016 10:57 pm
Burrow says...

I liked that it was intersting

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1080 Reviews

Points: 125
Reviews: 1080

Thu Dec 01, 2016 1:23 am
Kaylaa wrote a review...

This is Kaos here for a review!

I have to commend you on the imagery in this poem as it was a real strength here. The thing I think that would have made for more powerful imagery is sensory details. Describe the taste, touch, smell, sight, sound, of this forest. You have this here, but I don't think you've quite captured all of it yet. Use new ways to describe things rather than just the usual way. Tell us how the moonlight tastes.

Give imagery to us in new perspectives rather than just the ones done before. Another thing that I wanted to touch on is emotion words. I'm not really fond of them and I don't really think that they add too much to the poem because that's all they are. Words that describe emotion but they don't show emotion. Your idea of sorrow is not my idea of sorrow, nor for happiness or anger or anything else like that. Define how your sorrow is with similes and metaphors. Is it blocks of cement crushing on your chest? Is it frost-bite on your fingertips?

Your word choice is something that adds to the tone of the poem, and I can appreciate that. Onto the actual narrative, I didn't really find it too special and didn't really find a reason to care too much about what happened. There's not really a reason for the reader to care, and that's one of your faults. We've seen the whole girl-who-sings-melodies-in-the-forest-cliche before, and I think it's the fact that we don't actually get to get personal with that. The reader sees the girl only from a distance and the speaker's relationship to her is kind of distant as well. Emotional impact and weight behind your lines is something that I want to see. Don't just have pretty lines, have lines that twist hearts and throw punches.

I hope I helped and have a great day!

Frinderman says...

Yeah I understand your points. I cut out a lot because I felt too graphic with some of my lines... I might reincorporate some of them, if so, then tomorrow. Thanks for the criticism though.

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Points: 55
Reviews: 1

Thu Dec 01, 2016 1:16 am
JuliaAF wrote a review...

This was a beautiful and touching piece. While reading it I felt like I was there laying on the forest floor. It felt very personal. Maybe there really was no knife, no flash of gun smoke and envy. There was just that feeling as if a loss was worse than a death. Or was it the opposite? Maybe there really were those stains and holes. Or maybe it was all just a sound.

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Points: 55
Reviews: 1

Thu Dec 01, 2016 1:02 am
JuliaAF says...


Who, being loved, is poor?
— Oscar Wilde