You've defined Deja Vu. What else?

Solid title, solid poem, 'nuff said.*8*

What a happy ending...*9*

Not my chalice of wine. *6*

Very original, very good. I was thoroughly entertained. *9*

Eh...I hate wishing I skipped a very mediocre poem, sorry. *5*

Not chalice of wine. *6*

Stanza two is just raw poetry, I love how refined your style is...I know it contradicts...hah. *9*

I think "cherub" is a bit out of place, nonetheless, this is pretty good. I especially liked the second stanza. *8*

This could be more polished, but chances are it wouldn't be nearly as good. Loved the title, love the poem, kudos. *10*

I like the sentiment of this. The idea is right on. "till" should be "til" or "'til". "Touch a patch of land that needs you most" could lose the "most". The last line is unneeded, I think, or change "my" to "a."

You have no grasp on human existence. I cannot even venture to guess what childhood atrocities must have been inflicited on you to make you want to write such an empty and uninspired piece of shit as this. You're just one more sorry ass strutting around in this pitiful sanctuary for self-important asses. This drivel lacks all relevancy. Is this what you sit around pondering about? Is this the most intriguing most profound most soulful experience you can write about? What the fuck, are you some kind of horrible mutant? Try 'writing' something pertinent, germane, material, apropos to the soul and its struggle. It's tragic that such a bunch of heartless pukes have turned a once stimulating arena of thought into a incestuious hotbed of superfluous and inferior banter. The fact that some idiots feel it neccessary, let alone plausible, to leave comments on such atrocities is only more proof that you've all completely lost connection with the drama of human existence. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Get a life. A real one consisting of love and loss, pain and exrutiating ecxtasy, the awareness of our absurd and fleeting existence. You're all stuck in a boring putrid land of make believe. Fucking losers.

You have no grasp on human existence. I cannot even venture to guess what childhood atrocities must have been inflicited on you to make you want to write such an empty and uninspired piece of shit as this. You're just one more sorry ass strutting around in this pitiful sanctuary for self-important asses. This drivel lacks all relevancy. Is this what you sit around pondering about? Is this the most intriguing most profound most soulful experience you can write about? What the fuck, are you some kind of horrible mutant? Try 'writing' something pertinent, germane, material, apropos to the soul and its struggle. It's tragic that such a bunch of heartless pukes have turned a once stimulating arena of thought into a incestuious hotbed of superfluous and inferior banter. The fact that some idiots feel it neccessary, let alone plausible, to leave comments on such atrocities is only more proof that you've all completely lost connection with the drama of human existence. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Get a life. A real one consisting of love and loss, pain and exrutiating ecxtasy, the awareness of our absurd and fleeting existence. You're all stuck in a boring putrid land of make believe. Fucking losers.

Not a perfect edit. Use what you can: I do it when the knot under my chest bone swells when it spews up my throat dollop – splat onto the floor, mouth still open from a belly-knot I cry when no conclusions are made - boney shuttering shoulders and lonely back porch to spill onto, hands over my eyes, face in sin, red blotches and runny eyeliner. The mourning that bellows from my lips, rises uncontrolled, as God culls my rueful song

Not bad, I loved the line breaks. *8*

Uggh. *5*

Hats off to anyone who writes a paradelle without mistake. I find no mistakes here! And it actually makes some sense. This is not easy. http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=107380 “The paradelle is one of the more demanding French fixed forms, first appearing in love poetry of the eleventh century,” says Billy Collins. “It’s a poem of four six-line stanzas in which the first and second lines, and the third and fourth lines, of the first three stanzas, must be identical. The fifth and sixth lines, which traditionally resolve these stanzas, must use all the words from the preceding lines and only those words. The final stanza must use every word from all the preceding stanzas and only those words.” Let the others figure it out.

I have too agree with Dovina, no real substance. Not worth remembering. *6*

AHH! This is much worse than it should be, even so, I really enjoyed it. *8*

You have no grasp on human existence. I cannot even venture to guess what childhood atrocities must have been inflicited on you to make you want to write such an empty and uninspired piece of shit as this. You're just one more sorry ass strutting around in this pitiful sanctuary for self-important asses. This drivel lacks all relevancy. Is this what you sit around pondering about? Is this the most intriguing most profound most soulful experience you can write about? What the fuck, are you some kind of horrible mutant? Try 'writing' something pertinent, germane, material, apropos to the soul and its struggle. It's tragic that such a bunch of heartless pukes have turned a once stimulating arena of thought into a incestuious hotbed of superfluous and inferior banter. The fact that some idiots feel it neccessary, let alone plausible, to leave comments on such atrocities is only more proof that you've all completely lost connection with the drama of human existence. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Get a life. A real one consisting of love and loss, pain and exrutiating ecxtasy, the awareness of our absurd and fleeting existence. You're all stuck in a boring putrid land of make believe. Fucking losers.