Twist my rubber arm.

by SmylinG
  • December 12, 2011
  • Poetry
  • Other

Count the beads of a rosary necklace,
my sweet,
and save a few blessings for me.

I pray in tangled thoughts
and twisted beliefs.
I once thought I could make heaven
a liveable, breathable, tangible thing,
but my god and your god
are both fickle and crucified thoughts
—macabre lost
in the churning wind and the leaves

that kick up dirt in the eyes
of those who skim faithfully
ancient Hebrew text and lies.

When I am lost
chasing innumerable faiths
and parchment colored moons
who should guide my withered spirit
to proper light
—should I choose a proper faith
to steal away to my creative mind
and religious muse?

Spoiler! :
I've been a terrible coward at posting any of my work as of late. I know this isn't perfect --I can point out about three glaring flaws myself-- but I wrote it last night and had the impulse to get it out somewhere besides Tumblr. I've tweaked it about six times over since Tumblr; only to draw the obvious conclusion it's conflicting me. :smt108

Comments & reviews · 3
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AlucardXD
Review
AlucardXD wrote a review · Mon Dec 12, 2011 7:59 pm

I like your style of writing and the symbolism you used, and I can see where you're coming from with the three glaring flaws.
At the line "my sweet, and save..." perhaps saying "say" instead of "save" would be better, but I can see where it would fit in, so it would be okay either way, I suppose, it's up to you. Anyway, it's a great piece of work you've got here, and I like how you hold on to the idea of religion throughout the entire poem, so keep up the good work!!

User avatar
misstoria
Review
misstoria wrote a review · Mon Dec 12, 2011 7:38 pm

I really enjoyed this!

Count the beads of a rosary necklace,
my sweet,
and save #BF0000 ">how bout using "say" instead of save a few blessings for me. #FF0000 "> I like this line!

I pray in tangled thoughts
and twisted beliefs.
I once thought I could make heaven
a liveable, breathable, tangible thing,
but my god and your god
are both fickle and crucified thoughts
—macabre lost
in the churning wind and the leaves#FF0000 ">.

that kick up dirt in the eyes #FF0000 ">you may want to make this a new sentence and reword it a little
of those who skim faithfully
ancient Hebrew text and lies.

When I am lost
chasing innumerable faiths
and parchment colored moons
who should guide my withered spirit
to proper light
—should I choose
a proper faith #FF0000 ">how about not using proper again
to steal away to my creative mind
and religious muse?

Just a few suggestions, Keep Writing-Tori

P.S. I love your profile picture, I'm a total Ian Somerhalder junkie.



It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien