The State of The Union

Life begins with no sight,
no recollection of things past.

Eyes open, and in slips
Colors! Beauty! Textures!
(Along with the covert flimsiness of each)
For the most part,
one stays pure.
The world has not yet
smothered them,
and innocence (or is it ignorance?)
flourishes and thrives
within the infant soul.
Time passes quickly,
and expectations of
Maturity, Knowledge, Action,
grow deeper and heavier,
and are met upon age.

But are they really?
For the life of the New World
began like all of ours.
Corruption held no residence,
and the hills ... abundant with
the golden ore of Freedom.
People have mined away at this,
and gilded the value’s they hold dear
with a liquified faux-Trust,
forged from the Iron Tool of Fear,
fronted as the only Means of Safety.

What they will all
realize soon,
is that what is
not gold will
tarnish and rust,
and what is not
real will crumble to dust,
and they shall
die as they have lived.

With one eye open,
One ear covered,
One mouth shut,
And all rights ...

Dead.

Comments & reviews · 4
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User avatar
AquaMarine
Review

Hello!

I really liked the majority of this poem. You tell it with the air of a storyteller, yet with the rhythm of a poet, which means it all ties up rather nicely. I enjoyed your use of parentheses, I thought they added to this air of a story. It was written with confidence and maturity, which meant I really felt a lot of the emotion you were putting into it.

However, one thing I would like you to improve it the ending. Before that, I loved it, but in the end it came down to quite a cliche finish that felt as though it was supposed to be climatic, but seemed like a let down to me. The style changed, and it really didn't do the rest of your poem justice.

Good luck! PM me with questions.

-Amy

User avatar
ziggiefred
Review

Hello there

But are they really?
For the life of the New World
began like all of ours.
Corruption held no residence,
and the hills ... abundant with
the golden ore of Freedom.
People have mined away at this,
and gilded the value’s they hold dear
with a liquified faux-Trust,
forged from the Iron Tool of Fear,
fronted as the only Means of Safety.

I loved this stanza.
The other parts I thought were just fine and maybe needed a bit more emotion. But that's just me. Overall, this was good.

User avatar
StoryWeaver13
Review

Life begins with no sight,
no recollection of things past.

Eyes open, and in slips
Colors! Beauty! Textures! #FF0000 ">Hmm...not sure I like this part...
(Along with the covert flimsiness of each)
For the most part,
one stays pure.
The world has not yet
smothered them,
and innocence (or is it ignorance?) #FF0000 ">Love this.
flourishes and thrives
within the infant soul. #FF0000 ">Infant/innocence/pure have all shown up so far, and I really like the idea behind that, how you portray young innocence.
Time passes quickly,
and expectations of
Maturity, Knowledge, Action, #FF0000 ">Not sure I like this line...
grow deeper and heavier,
and are met upon age.

But are they really?
For the life of the New World
began like all of ours.
Corruption held no residence,
and the hills ... abundant with
the golden ore of Freedom. #FF0000 ">Love these last threee lines.
People have mined away at this,
and gilded the value’s they hold dear
with a liquified faux-Trust,
forged from the Iron Tool of Fear,
fronted as the only Means of Safety. #FF0000 ">These lines too, really descriptive with metaphor and imagery. Love it!

What they will all
realize soon,
is that what is
not gold will
tarnish and rust,
and what is not
real will crumble to dust,
and they shall
die as they have lived. #FF0000 ">I like this stanza apart from the fact that (although it worked well on its own) it didn't meld into the first stanzas.

With one eye open,
One ear covered,
One mouth shut,
And all rights ...

Dead. #FF0000 ">That caught me off-guard, but I like that. Overall, I think this is a really really good poem.


Anyway, I like this.
Keep writing,
~StoryWeaver



I want to see people turn and writhe; make them feel things they cannot see and sometimes do not know.
— Anna Held