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1a. Awaken (Free verse) by A db C

Tired is the feeling aching through limbs lack energy repeated as a voice inside me Thoughts began, Slurred off like voices- distant echoes. Barely visible black dots Became patches in vision Becoming darkness Descends Dominated the brain Descends vision Finally dulls and awakens the head. No need to read the below, its just here if you are interested (Partial Rewrite of 1. The Day After Next) I felt tired today; These limbs ache and lack energy I repeated to myself. Thoughts started but then slurred like far off voices, Whilst barely visible black dots became patches, Became a darkness that dominated my vision and finally dulled my head. At this moment, as per usual, I was supposed to be receiving some kind of spiritual message: my life was supposed to flash before my eyes. Minute by minute, hour by hour, still shots of memory imposed itself with burning intensity before melting down like old projector film and spattering into my brain. Pulling out the negatives I watched reel upon reel of footage that jerked from frame to frame displaying pictures of aging mills and coal mines, exhaust fumes marked cracked boarded windows and stained dusty brickwork. There were noises like children crying and the screeching of worn brakes, the rattle of old machines, winding creaking sounds regularly spaced as if someone here were turning the handle of a rusted old mangle. Looking around there were no signs of life, just a slightly pretentious parody of the day that I was about to receive. Although sulfur and ash from long dead fires clogged the airways and stained the skin, my mind was numb and seemingly void of all that could even want to care. Drifting through memories that I barely recognized and had no desire to recollect, coming across that piece of me that cared, that teardrop, he fell upon all my abandoned intents, all that I wished to share. Everywhere I looked this barbed bead of frost confronted me, I shied away, turned my back and covered my eyes, Shaking, scraping this thing from my dry and cracked face. Re-hydrating ducts, glands and dried out waterways day by day This process began awakening limbs and organs Who had never wanted to feel this pain again. Over the weeks I began clutching my ticking head, Desperately hoping it would finally explode. It had started, and I was now fit to beg for heaven's help.

Dovina 13-Aug-06/6:41 AM
I think the material in the paragraphs that follow the poem are more like pooetry. The poem simply tells us what the narrator thinks or feels. The other shows us in images and thereby engenders us to think about our own feelings. Here are some examples, pulled from above:

barely visible black dots became patches
shots of memory impose
melting down like old projector film
Pulling out the negatives
stained dusty brickwork
barbed bead of frost
clutching my ticking head




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