7-9-09 Dreams

Like petals falling from a tree,
Spreading like fireworks,
My dreams are set free,
Only to be tempted
By the slick surface of the pond.
They are caught by the ripples
That forever disturb the peace,
And they are washed away
To be drowned in the inky blackness
Of the water,
Never to be seen again.

Comments & reviews · 3
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User avatar
Moriah Leila
Review

While the imagery is very good, I felt like you were trying too hard. Maybe you used too many adjectives. I just felt like there was no story, no purpose behind this poem. It was beautifully written, no doubt. But I wasn't quite sure what you were trying to get across? That your dreams have been lost? Because truly, dreams cannot ever been lost. Unless you are talking about those subconcious imaginings we have at night. Then I forget all of those the minute I am out of bed. I don't know, I am just confused as to what you were trying to say. Perhaps you could clarify?

User avatar
Kamas
Review
Kamas wrote a review · Sun Jan 03, 2010 7:27 pm

This was nicely done, short but sweet in a way.
I like the use of the imagery of the dream sinking into the pond, very well done.

Tennis is right about the use of slick. When some says slick I imagine a recently cleaned floor. You want to use a word that people can easily associated with the flat reflective-ness of a pond.

But really, otherwise it's nicely done.
Keep writing!

Kamas

User avatar
thewritingdoc
Review

Short but sad :(
I could make that emotional connection to the piece...

By the slick surface of the pond.

I wouldn't have used the word slick here..don't think it creates quite the right picture. It fumbled upon my lips.

As for the title, it didn't hook me in so much. I would consider re-naming the piece (:

Other than that, nothing too picky. Excellent images in this piece to convey the emotion. Nice hook and intro!
Since it's a short piece, I guess this is a short critique!
Well done.
Please feel free to message me anytime you need a review (:
8/10
~ Tennis !



You are in the wrong land even if the roosters recognize you.
— Nathalie Handal, "Noir, une lumière"