z

Young Writers Society



A Moment Of Clarity

by mizz-iceberg


On the long empty days
when the breakfast table lay dismal,
her chair vacant and the sun poured
through the windows with good cheer,
irritating me in it's stubbornness
to clash with my downcast mood,
I made my way down the pebbled path
behind the garden where many a time
we had ambled following the sound
of the playground yonder.
The day, relentless in its cheerfulness
bursting with the warmth and colour of summer,
was a slap in the face of a mourning man.
How cruel, how merciless it was
of an old man's sorrow,
determined to overpower him with its radiance.
And I, who considered my self a heartbroken lover,
doggedly kept my misery close
letting it wash over me to dampen every cheerful sight
determined to never smile again in my life
for I had lost her.
My spirits in their melancholy were a pleasure.
I felt poetic
I felt unique
Special in my loss
Determined to revel in my exclusiveness.
Like the romantic lover I never was,
I paused at every sight that spoke of her,
sighed when I saw a blooming flower.
The lilies she used to pick,
carefully setting them in her hair,
continued blushing and blooming with freshness and youth.
Did they not mourn her,
their mistress who smiled upon their glory?
Did they not want to wilt and weep in her dear memory?
Such thoughts I had those days!
Crafted I guess, from novels
and films
about love
about loss
of romantic heartbreaks.
Some I suspect
from Shakespearean sonnets I dreaded in the student days.
I wonder now
how much of that misery was genuine.
Did I truly ever reach the depths of depression
as I made myself believe?
It was a pretend,
a play,
a splendid masquerade!
a story I'd stretch and mold to appeal my sentiments,
just for the sheer pleasure of feeling emotional,
of the pleasure of pitying oneself
--my dabbling in masochism.
Sometimes I cautiously suspect those heartbroken lovers
who quite like myself sigh away their days.
And yet,
and yet, I can never bring myself to look them in the eye,
for the haunting inkling
that their sorrow may indeed be genuine.
In my shame I never console them;
never utter the words:
"I know what you're going through."
I am truly alone now
belonging to neither the blithe
for my guilty nature may never rejoice,
nor with the broken hearted,
for I was a fraud, a cheating deceitful fraud.
I do not deserve that sorrow.
And this new gloominess,
that envelopes me in a gray fog,
isolated from the world around me.
of being truly alone,
with a sorrow unrecognized,
uncategorized.
Is this gloominess
genuine?
For it is far more unique
than the first.
I would have it another way
if I could.
For the blithe party
seems far more pleasing now,
And the bona fide miserable
have people who can say
"I know what you're going through."
Real emotions are unavoidable though.
So this is--must be--real.


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User avatar
369 Reviews


Points: 15698
Reviews: 369

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Fri Mar 05, 2010 8:56 pm
Conrad Rice wrote a review...



Hi there, mizz-iceberg. I'm Conrad, and I'll be reviewing this today.

So, I like what you're doing here. This nice, long, free verse narrative poem is right up my alley. I have to say that i enjoyed this poem quite a bit.

I do think that you need to go back and touch up some of your punctuation and capitalization. Just because this is a poem does not mean that you can throw those by the wayside. You need to keep them in mind and remember to use them to be effective. They are not restrictions. They are tools that you can use to be more effective at getting your point across.

I also think that you ought to go back and make sure that what you're trying to say comes out right. At times I got kind of lost because what you were trying to say didn't quite seem to sync up.

But, all in all, this was an enjoyable poem. You just need to tinker with it a little now. PM me if you have any questions or comments.

Good job, and good luck.

-Conrad Rice




User avatar
287 Reviews


Points: 1650
Reviews: 287

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Fri Mar 05, 2010 5:45 pm
Maki-Chan wrote a review...



Please add spaces between sections kinda like

"blah blah blah blah,
blah blah blah.

blah blah blah,
blah blah blah-
blah blah blah."

please add some spaces, it was hard for me to read, and I think adding spaces between specific and important sections of the poem it will add more depth and make the poem have a more dramatic effect.

I hope I didn't confuse you with my (kinda bad) explanation...





It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.
— Albus Dumbledore