High School, Years After

Hey there, Red,

I don't have a lot to say about this piece, but I thought it was, in a word, beautiful, so I had to stop and say something. I love the simple structure, and the enjambment of the sentences across the couplets really works for me.

If I had one thing to suggest as an improvement, it would be the last line. I like the idea of having a single line standing against the set of couplets, but this particular line doesn't feel quite right to me. It seems almost as though it ought to start a new section of the poem - another few couplets or something - but instead it's just been cut off and left, and doesn't really round off the poem. I'm not sure what to suggest as a replacement, but I think it might be an idea to look at finding one.

As I said, I loved it overall. Please, write more.
Cadi x

Okay, let's review!

You sit where you are: at the heart
of the city, its mechanical throb
 
booming in your chest, or perhaps
under the shade of acacia trees
 
by the sea wall. The horizon hides
a life long over. You are there
 
also, in the old high school building,
yellowing in the pages
 
of a forgotten yearbook,
rusting in the trophy room
 
weathered by the glance of children
in polo shirts and pink skirts,
 
children who were once you,
you understand, even as you outgrew
 
yourself, those kalachuchi trees
in perpetual autumn. You have all
 
fallen like flowers. Into your
respective plots of soil. All else you leave
 
to the wind, to the passing
kick of black shoes
 
amid the crunch of gravel.
Or else you wait to be picked up and sniffed.
 
 
You sit where you are.

Very pretty piece really. I liked the formatting a lot and the emotions and the descriptions and the imagery a lot. But... It kind of needs work:

You sit where you are: at the heart
of the city, its mechanical throb
booming in your chest, or perhaps
under the shade of acacia trees
by the sea wall.

The horizon hides
a life long over.

You are there
also, in the old high school building,
yellowing in the pages
of a forgotten yearbook.

Rusting in the trophy room,
weathered by the glance of children
in polo shirts and pink skirts,
 
Children who were once you,
you understand, even as you outgrew
yourself, those kalachuchi trees
in perpetual autumn.

You have all
fallen like flowers. Into your
respective plots of soil.

All else you leave
to the wind, to the passing
kick of black shoes
amid the crunch of gravel.

Or else you wait
to be picked up
and sniffed.
 
 
You sit
where you are.

How is it? I think it would be better this way! Even though it looks less formatted it actuall makes a little sense now and looks more poetic to me.

I really like this poem, despite it's errors and I hope you continue writing! Xd!