A/N: Blame the caffeine. I always do that. *flails*
~*~
i saw a story walk by my cottage yesterday:
her skin was as pale as parchment and her eyes were blots of ink that
an amateur artist had dripped over flimsy sheets of paper.
When she smiled it reminded you of the way
stars flicker and die, and burn brighter again,
like the setting
and the rising
and the climbing of the sun.
she sat down by the creek and she
looked at me.
i was afraid to meet her eyes.
i didn't want to meet her eyes.
so i looked at her instead.
Her robes flowed around her like old tapestries that
told tales of knights and medieval monarchies
that succumbed to dust centuries ago:
they were legends of power, of lust and of greed.
they were terrible, and they were true.
i saw her wander my gardens for a day and a half;
i did not stop her, nor did i ask her
why she was there. it's like a part of me knew
that she was waiting for me to make the first move.
but what if she was a story
that frightened me?
she knelt down by the lilies and she
looked at me.
i was afraid to meet her eyes.
so i stared at the way she walked instead, leaving
footprints in the sand; strange words
i could not decipher, almost as if she was writing
in braille.
and hesitantly, very hesitantly,
i moved in a little closer.
she looked up as i walked over,
smiled a type-written smile
and stretched out a pallid hand.
it felt crinkly and rustled beneath my touch.
it was old and filled me with nostalgia.
it was a beautiful kind of remembrance, like
effervescing smiles in autumn.
she peered through me with her inky-heart and i
looked at her.
i was afraid to meet her eyes so i
traced the words sketched on her palm.
they were beautiful, and terrible, just as i'd thought they'd be,
and my tears flowed free like unshackled words;
a torrent fluttering across parchment.
i breathed in, i dropped her hand.
i looked up and
met her eyes.
she smiled at me and somehow, i found myself wishing
that all people were stories.
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125,027 Literary Works • 672,774 Reviews
So I came here like 'oh I'll review something of hers now because she is awesome.'
*reads*
O.O
THAT WAS AMAZING
KEEP WRITING MORE
I CANT REVIEW THIS...
<3 You just made my day.
I like the way you use personification to add depth to the idea of a story. The type-written smile, the skin pale as parchment are beautiful expressions. The disregard for conventional punctuation also seems to work for this poem and I didn't mind the whole poem being in lowercase at all, it just flows so well!
I noticed this flaw though : the narrator averts meeting the eyes of the story throughout the poem - this is supposed to be a mystery apparently; yet at the very beginning of the poem the eyes are described as blots of ink. Spoiler alert?
You show us that stories can be terrible and beautiful or both. I got that and it was a nice idea - thinking about the complexities behind stories and how we try to avoid confronting certain stories because we're afraid of what they might have to offer.
The build-up to the end was nice. During the course of the poem, there was a certain anticipation in my mind as to what the whole picture you paint would really turn out to be. But the graph seems to go flat at the end, the climax. The reasons why the narrator wishes that all people were stories remains unexplained and I felt that this seems to take away the sense of fulfillment from the poem.
So you could maybe work a bit on that. The style of writing, however, is awesome and so is your choice of words. Keep the good work up!
That poem was very intelligently written, and I loved all of the book-person analogies. I had to read it twice, and this is obviously meant in a good way
. The only thing I would suggest is that the line, "I was afraid to meet her eyes" reoccurs more throughout the poem, I think it would reinforce its rhythm.
And just a quick question...aren't all people stories? Most people just don't have time to read into them
Wonderful poem overall; it made me think.
definitely loved the ending. Good job.