My Death
The day is grim,
The day is cold,
My mind grows ill,
No help at all,

The sun shines no more,
I fear the end is near,
The birds once chirped I do not hear,
Upon my empty hands dry these tears.

Lonely this grave is,
So dark inside this box,
The roots of life's tree will never reach me,
Inside this steel and concrete box.

Clouds I once watched,
Floating so soft in the sky,
I wished to sit upon them,
If only when I died.


Comments:
 
Ancient117331   Ancient117331 wrote
on 4/23/2008 1:11:47 PM
Jason, I suggest you read it aloud... so many things become quite clear when you DO that. Laters my friend, Chris T.

bookserpent   bookserpent wrote
on 4/23/2008 12:26:39 PM
Punctuation is as much a poetic tool as descriptiveness. Sometimes an author makes certain stylistic choices, deciding what to lay down, and what to leave in the hands of the reader. I have to say that you communicate a consistent tone, and leave some ambiguous imagery that opens many paths for interpretation. Very nice piece.

POETDONTKNOWIT   POETDONTKNOWIT wrote
on 4/23/2008 10:46:15 AM
I really like the write, just not all the comma's. I also feel that you can be much more descriptive on your imagery. Come on, I know ya got it in ya! I do like the poem!!!!!!!!!!!! POETDONTKNOWIT

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