Limbo

by OFJ290

Published April 1, 2016

12+ Language

In Better Poems

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I straddle two worlds and neither wants me.

Nomad,

Vagabond,

Drifter,

An insurgent to societies that are both

Closed.

Forever,

I will be in this limbo;

Rooted in one but blooming in the other.

Present in both yet seen in none.

Each, the Holy North to my damned own.

And in this purgatory, I rejoice.

Free from the constructs that stifle individuality.

Free from the shackles of ambiguity.

I exude explosive excitement and passion that makes skeptics

Tremble.

No longer am I held down by society's ignorance.

An outcast from two hells created his own Eden.

And In limbo, I thrive.

Comments & reviews · 4
DivergentDemigod wrote a review Review · Apr 3, 2016

HEY THERE!

Well this was cool! i really enjoyed reading it... the way it flowed is awseome. and the word choice, well hatts off for that. words like eden and ambiguity- i dont see them around usually, i guess thats why your poem seemed so good to me and i guess thats why i'm reviewing it right now. personally there isnt a single think that i would replace. this work of yours is really perfect and has zero grammatical or spelling errors.
so yeah, basically i loved your work and am hoping to see more of them in the future, untill then keep up the good work! ;)

HAPPY REVIEW DAY
Fangirl~

User avatar
Rosendorn
Review
Rosendorn wrote a review Review · Apr 2, 2016

Hello.

Slightly different take on my own religious philosophy ("hell cannot harm those who have embraced it"), but still something I can relate to.

So the biggest thing I noticed here is you went extremely choppy, which I think is a double edged sword. You have some really good emphasis transitions when you do use them, but for the most part this feels a little too spat out for my tastes. Of course, my personal style is very rambley, so I'm biased.

But I really feel you could benefit from making this a little less spat out, especially in the self accepting portion at the end. Right now, the poem's structure creates an appropriately disconnected feel, where nothing ties together. But as you have the narrator come into their own, the choppiness continues and doesn't lead to a strong moment of catharsis, for me, because there isn't any change.

Poetry structure can be just as important as the content, because structure is how we read it. It indicates the tone and gives the words themselves a life. It's especially important in poetry because there are so few words to build a voice, especially when you have a minimalistic style like is present here.

Overall, that's my biggest suggestion: mess around with the flow and see if you can't change the tone of the poem to reflect the emotional progression you want to take us through. A lot of the words themselves are there; they just need to be presented a little differently.

Hope this helps! Let me know if you have any questions or comments.

~Rosey

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AkeliaTaske
Review
AkeliaTaske wrote a review Review · Apr 2, 2016

Wait, you play limbo? I'm sorry, but I didn't get why the title of this poem was called "Limbo" and the poem had to do with struggling. I mean, what's the connection? I'm sorry, that's just what I got while reading this.

And, do you play limbo? Is that why it's called this? Or maybe this story doesn't make sense because I'm really tired. Who knows.
[ Edit ]

I apologize, but I'm afraid this has absolutely nothing to do with the poem.

K, I think it's because I'm really tired. I'll give it a better review in the morning :)

then why did you mark that comment as a review? Really you're not helping the author at all, because if you wanted to, you could never view this work again and you still got points from it. It's unfair.

Also, limbo means struggle.

You know what, never mind. I'm sorry if I offended you, or the author

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OFJ290
Comment
OFJ290 commented Comment · Apr 1, 2016

This my first post; thank you for all the warm welcomes!!



I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
— Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights