The candle's flame in clear and blue
and yellow showing false from true
continues caring not who knows
the reasoning for which it glows.
The smallest flame, so uncontrolled
yet still so wild. I soon behold
the passing of the dying wax
that carry moments on their backs
To places I can barely see
within the dying flame. For me
the vision is so cruelly faint,
portraying in translucent paint
The hints of dreams I have forgot.
I tell myself again to not
be lost in phantoms; still I keep
my flame-born heart, where yet I sleep.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
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1 comment:
I hope you're interested in an attempt at criticism. That's what I would want if I posted a poem I thought was done (meaning I don't know what else to do with it).
Overall, this is a good poem. It has a melancholy feeling. You've lost energy, or purpose (or something) and you miss it. Really good. There's a few spots I feel are rough.
L4 “the reasoning for which it glows” struck me as oddly worded at first, but on second thought I like it.
L5-6 “so uncontrolled / yet still so wild” is really odd because uncontrolled and wild agree, but yet implies the clauses should disagree. Perhaps make it “and,” but that messes up “still.” Perhaps change a clause so they disagree, if you can do that without changing out meaning.
L7-8 “dying wax / that carry” “wax” seems like it should be plural to me, so “carry” ought to be “carries.” I think “carries” sounds better.
Your third stanza is really cool, and I've not nothing against the fourth. So, yeah, this is good poetry. A might better than a the stuff I read a couple months ago in “evolution of the flightless bird.” I expected it to be a scientific treatise but I found the coded messages of a lonely alien on a hostile world.
Good writing. Perhaps all your emotional turmoil (which you may deny existing) can be channeled into powerful creativity. I hope something good comes of it, anyway.
P.S. "fifixe"
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