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Young Writers Society



My love, my love - lema sabachthani?

by xanthan gum


Just before you read this - know I'm NOT comparing myself to Jesus. That's not the point. :?

A flowing string of cocoa beans and the gushing taste of vineyard wine
From chapels and the steeples, we’re dancing in the runic rhyme
Heart beating crimson, scarlet, bloody, deep and raw and red
It’s darkness that embraces me – so dismal, destitute and dead

You were a fruitful garden born to breed my priceless lapis lazuli
A sting conscious wine fountains to be, within me, broken free
But deadened, black, parched and sable piece of coal
You’ve killed the slightest point of passion and wounded my weakened soul

Stapled to my lustful crucifix
I shiver, blurred and agonized
My blood, dripping emblems of your tricks
As your guile plates my eyes
This is where true love turns to lies

Roses turn to crosses everyday

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Points: 890
Reviews: 1160

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Tue Apr 11, 2006 11:41 am
Elizabeth wrote a review...



'Heart beating crimson, scarlet, bloody, deep and raw and red"
*Hurks!* So... much.... RED!

THIS CREEPED ME OUT!
Usually it takes a lot to do that but first I read abotu clockwork toys and now this? OH my god!

You truely are the Jesus of Poetry though. *Bows down*
Jesus, this gave me the creeps though, good show.

One little minor thing that I'm going to stab at:

"But deadened, black, parched and sable piece of coal
You’ve killed the slightest point of passion and wounded my weakened soul"

Compared with all the others, the third line and fourth line were the same, but here the fourth was way too long... maybe take out weakened or wounded? Or change weakened to WEAK. Yes, much better. :P




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67 Reviews

Points: 890
Reviews: 67

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Sat Apr 08, 2006 7:27 pm
Revere says...



Wow, that is a really good poem! I really like your use of imagery, it's very powerful. Honestly, I don't think theres anything I would change. Good work, and keep writing!





Edna began to feel like one who awakens gradually out of a dream, a delicious, grotesque, impossible dream, to feel again the realities pressing into her soul.
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening