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A Truth About Mortals (Free verse) by Caducus I see their manufactured smiles
Yet rivers flow under ice cold exteriors,
I want to carve them a hole
And bring their lives to the surface.
They are trapped like boxed Russian dolls
Layers over layers of painted expressions
Glossing over the truth
Which is a soul-less darkness.
They wear their pin striped polyester suits like skin
Respectability covering truth
Born from the callused hands of Taiwanese children.
From sweatshop to boutique,
What we buy is not what we sell.
Today I dressed myself in rain
Watching the blind find their way again
To the tube station,
Full of sardines brined from the stress of a missed deadline.
I thought to myself
I will free myself
By wanting to be myself
And these are my first steps
To be worth remembering.
Up the ladder:
mistaken in a glance
Down the ladder:
untitled
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 8.0
Posted: November 6, 2003 6:38 AM PST; Last modified: November 6, 2003 6:38 AM PSTWeighted score: 5.806824 Overall Rank: 1660 Comments:
Well- it bored me, and if this was written to convey that things are not what they seem, you could of written perhaps 4 lines at the most and spared readers from being seriously mislead.
-shrug-
Some really good concepts, like the boxed russian dolls, manufacturing linked with Taiwanese children, sardines brined from stress (sweaty sweaty) - but I think the thing could use a diet, and the meaning wanders a bit, imho (as usual).
for example, the word truth is there a few times too many maybe. Given what is here, ask yourself, again, what point(s) your are trying to make, and make a stab at refocusing it. You may find you have enough trimmings for another poem. As a final thought - consider changing it to a third person. I know, I know - your poem conveys a personal message of self-definition - but I think you can do that, and hold the readers sympathies better if there is a character involved.
Only poesyests know the troof.
I only believe in a universe of strings, and dull paperbacked escapism.
369 view(s)
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This isn't a poem, it's pretentious guff with line breaks sprinkled arbitrarily throughout. Maybe you should try reading some real poetry by actual poets next time you're thinking of putting a draft of last year's suicide note through an autoformatter and posting it here.