| Poem: Submit | Random | Best | Worst | Recent | Comments |
|
Words (Final Version) (Free verse) by Wakeboarder20 You wore your heart on your sleeve
and poured your soul out to us
but no words came.
You spoke of heartache and pain
and threatened us with death every day
but no words came.
You lay there, wrists as wide as our eyes.
Regret covering your lifeless face.
But no words come.
Up the ladder:
Butler Street YMCA Christmas Party, 1943
Down the ladder:
Fill Out That Paper
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 4.5
Posted: August 30, 2006 3:01 PM PDT; Last modified: October 11, 2006 12:09 PM PDTWeighted score: 4.976287 Overall Rank: 8251 Comments:
[7]
Dovina @ 12.72.44.122
|
30-Aug-06/8:18 PM
|
Reply
I'm sure it's a tramatic event, but something is lost to me in the poetry. She (I assume she) is in your arms with her wrists cut opened, and she's alive enough to shed tears and talk of angels. Then she dies. And the only concern exoressed in the poem is that no words came to the narrator. It seems that action to stop the bleeding would be a greater concern. So there is something going on that I'm not getting from the poem.
[9]
Ranger @ 62.252.32.15
> Dovina
|
11-Oct-06/12:56 PM
|
Reply
Not necessarily. There was a story here recently about a guy whose girlfriend committed suicide. She was terminally depressed and had tried to kill herself before. He didn't try to save her life, just held her for the whole day as she died so she wouldn't die alone. The poem reminded me strongly of that.
Don't like the initial cliche (wearing heart on sleeve), the rest is fine.
129 view(s)
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
