His mind and heart are truly aimed,
his chest still broad and stout.
Though his honor had since been shamed-
with no respite from his surname,
he saunters fraught with doubt.
His good will have no measure where,
his kind lands in the end.
He finds it hard to truly care-
about events and how they fair,
his wounds seem not to mend.
The deep crevice upon his brow,
so scared with wayward lines.
His thoughts so loud they wont allow-
his eyes to see the beauties now,
oblivious to signs.
Reviews
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wallowing...
In one's own self pity. As justified as beating ourselves up may be, eventually we end up with a heart that holds unforgiveness and that ... that'll kill ya.
I am not sure if that was what you were trying to communicate here, but that is what it meant to me.
This poem is different, not you usual story, more mysterious and metaphorical. It challenged me. I liked that about it.
PEACE
have a miraculous week!
Carly
ALAS! I have a critique... the background color against the text color causes my corneas to revolt against my retinas which feels pretty horrible... I'd strongly suggest you change it
hee hee hee
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Yeah
I changed the background it was hurting me too. Not sure what possessed me to go with that color spectrum.
Just thoughts really. Yeah probably about me wallowing in my own self pity... I wrote a poem about it because misery loves company!
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this is good:D
I really like this poem you feel like you're there next to him watching his every movement,. my favorite line is "the deep crevice upon his brow" it gives the picture of him thinking hard and i think you hit it on the head ,.. great poem enoq
CarlySeye
December 14, 2008