Concrete walls surrounding.
The flight of my self is unbounding.
The man in the hat speaks before us all.
We are falling in our chairs from a building so tall.
I grip the ledge; wood beneath my sweaty palm
I am looking down at my demon
I wish to fall.
Save the others, can they come back up?
Am I running yet? Or am I stuck?
Conversations with a person, I wish not to say.
I hold my blue binder, she goes away.
The floors are metal, the walls are stone.
I feel the chill of my watcher strike the bone.
No life is entering the building, I am protected.
I make it to the outside with the infected.
They are walking in the building: No! I scream.
I did not see them before, I was alone in my dream.
The sun is upon my face, the air is cool.
I make it to the other side of a makeshift school.
I look over my shoulder.
The air has gotten colder.
Their faces are changing. They are swirling together.
I was protected inside and will be forever.
Across the street, I meet my friend.
He is calm, I am solemn again.
The cars are creeping by.
Sun roofs open to the sky
Giant cats are like gods,
peeping from the inside.
They are resting upon the roofs,
the size of me.
Sheer calmness ensues.
We must all stop and see.
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Canary word: Present
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
I really liked it. you are very good at choosing words that flow really well.
I though some parts went a little to quick, to jumpy
I had some trouble finding the meaning.
All in all I Loved it
This was an...interesting poem. You dropped the rhyme, switched your meter, and your imagery, though wonderfully descriptive, figurative, and wonderful in every way, shape, and form, was chaotic. Everything else was acceptable, but you killed the meter and confused your imagery; don't be afraid to stop and describe the flowers, for they don't bite. It would be fine as a free verse poem with staggered meter if you can't manage it - you're descriptive and paint wonderful pictures - yet you still try to put it into rhyme form. Let the poem be as you think it; don't try to kill the meter and imagery to save the rhyme. Anyone can rhyme, but only poets have meter and imagery. This poem is really quite perplexing. I like it for it beauty, yet at the same time I see the beauty dying by the hands of the rhyme. I also saw that you were compelled to punctuate almost everything with either a period or a comma. Calm down with the punctuation; no one ever yelled at great poets for leaving no punctuation at the end of the line, so why should they yell at you? Don't be afraid to make it a poem. A poem is not made by it's rhyme, or punctuation, or even meter, but from the voice that is conveyed through the poem. If great pillars of the poetry community started to write with bland voices caused by obsession over inconsequential details like punctuation, then we would have an awfully sad archive of fine poems. What I'm trying to say is to pause and smell the metaphorical flowers, to describe your vision, which will never lead you wrong with though and effort, and stop running to catch up with the conventional machines that are pushing your work towards oblivion. You have a wonderful vision, all I'm asking is that you let it have free reign, and not your editor side. Thank you if you have paused to read this, and if you haven't, I'll see you some other time, hopefully.
-Ligea
This really reminded me of a Slyvia Plath poem...and I like Slyvia Plath so that's a good thing. (Just don't stick your head in an oven). The only thing that bothered me was that you dropped your rhyme sceme twice.
There's some good imagery in this poem. You clearly are talented with arranging and choosing your words. The jumpy style and sheer number of symbols kept me from really pulling a lot of meaning from the poem though. I would suggest trying to clarify the meaning of the poem, and then use symbols to accentuate what you're trying to say.