Age is not death but growth,
It nobles and mystifies one
With scars of mar and flight of sons
Growth is not life but decay,
It wrinkles and withers you
With bodes of old and age of yew.
But, decay is age,
And most importantly
With this, wisdom shall be yours.
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Canary word: Present
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I have to agree... this poem didn't make much sense, although personaly the rythym seemed ok...
This poem makes no sense. At the very least a poem sould speak from the heart and soul. This has no meaning or feeling to it. Give your next piece some thought and put your feelings into it.
Thankyou for the critique. Reading it again it translates to utter rubbish. I agree, this is a terrible poem but what could I expect from myself - its the third one Ive written.
Thanks again.
Um.
Wah-huh?
Sorry, but this made no sense to me. First, you say that age is not death. Right. But then you say, it is growth, only growth is not life, it's decay and decay is not death how, exactly? So that's confusing right there.
Plus, your word use is kind of...weird. Nobles should be "enobles" (grammatically speaking) and what on earth is a scar of mar? Mm? Scars may mar, yes, but they generally arent "of" mar. Ditto bodes of old. And age of yew. And, sorry, but WHAT does the "flight of sons" have to do with anything? Where did wisdom come in? Wisdom comes with decay? What????
I'm sorry. I dont mean to be harsh, I'm just tired, and I think this poem has a long way to go before you could call it a good one. You really need to make it coherent: decide what you're trying to say and why, and then say it, without all this shilly-shallying and trying to sound mysterious. Poetry is not about being needlessly obscure. It's about articulating the internal life of the poet.
So basically: put some sense into it!
Regards,
~bubbles