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Literature Text
Hush the youngest children, for the demon in the skies
Treasuring the very thought of anyone's demise
Glitter fades to black and shining moonlight fades to dust
Every cruel man's wonderland is built of poor man's trust
Tragic, empty melodies and blood beneath the air
Fearlessly escape the wind and drown without a care
Treasure death as platinum, as silver and as gold
Every cruel man's wonderland is built of poor man's gold...
Treasuring the very thought of anyone's demise
Glitter fades to black and shining moonlight fades to dust
Every cruel man's wonderland is built of poor man's trust
Tragic, empty melodies and blood beneath the air
Fearlessly escape the wind and drown without a care
Treasure death as platinum, as silver and as gold
Every cruel man's wonderland is built of poor man's gold...
Literature
R.I.P.
Did anyone notice that she winced if you raised your arm?
Did anyone notice that her eyes were wide with alarm?
Did anyone notice that she never looked you in the eye?
Did anyone notice that her voice was but a sigh?
Did anyone notice that her skin was always bruised?
Did anyone question whether she might be abused?
Did anyone question why she walked in obvious fear?
Did anyone question why one day she did not appear?
Did anyone recognize her face on the six-o’clock news?
Did anyone see her remains pulled from the river refuse?
Did anyone care that this quiet girl no longer exists?
No. No one did. And she will never even be missed.
R.I
Literature
Your Poetry Sucks
Yes, roses are red
And violets are blue
But you have to understand
Who said they had to,
Its about imagination
Emotion and orignality
Not the reiteration
Of dead men's practicality
These words,
They are your sentence
To a world that has to listen
As you create the difference
Whether it be
With angst poem against love
Or how you set your heart free
To fly like a dove,
For these words
Whether or not they be true
Their beauty and ideals
Will be used to define you,
So yes,
Hope ,in fact, has feathers
And like a caged bird it sings
But these words will only be tethers
That strip you of your wings,
Those are their words
Meant for their time
And me
Literature
I was taught right from wrong
I was taught right from wrong
By a murderer
I was taught truth from lies
By a magician
I was taught who my friends were
By my enemy
I was taught to be honest
By a professional liar
I was taught to always speak my mind
By being told to keep quiet
I was taught to be kind
By someone that beat me down
I was taught to smile
By someone who could never wipe a scowl of their face
I was taught to love
By being abused
I was taught to live
By someone who was already dead
I was taught to perform
By someone with stage fright
I was taught to be excellent
By someone that failed in everything
I was taught to rely on only my self
By being su
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<3 Comments? Critiques?
© 2013 - 2024 MikkiMarie
Comments15
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Well, since you asked so nicely! And how can I say no to <3?
Fair warning - I'm still kinda new at giving critiques, so here's to a cautious third attempt.
When I first clicked on this piece what I found the most intriguing was the style. In high school I found a lot of my own influences in Frost and Dickinson, and reading this felt like a throwback to some of my all-time favorite poems by them, like "Nothing Gold Can Stay" and "Tell All the Truth but Tell It Slant." The similarities there that I recognize in your work are their ability to get a message across with one to two stanzas and maybe six to ten lines. I like that the message is clear and succinct without dragging it out needlessly, stanza after stanza. "Short and sweet" can sometimes have a greater, more far-reaching impact than several pages' worth of words. Less is more, as they say. (Now if only we could convince politicians of that and tell them no, filibusters are a dumb idea. But I digress.)
Another aspect about this poem that I really liked was the twist on preconceived notions about rising to the top. I love how you employ words that we typically hold in high estimation and associate with riches and success - like "treasure," "platinum," "silver," "gold," "wonderland," "glitter" - and then wrap a dark shroud around them, revealing the sinister truth behind the success stories of that which society covets. The impression I got was that even King Tut's riches had skeletons in their closet; another angle to the rag's to riches story, how the road to success might not always be paved with good intentions. To succeed and aspire to wealth and success, do we simply have to be better than our competitors, or do we have to sabotage them in order to win? Or in climbing to the top, do we lose sight of what truly matters and allow ourselves to ruthlessly do whatever it takes to achieve our own ambitions?
The theme here is timeless, granting your poem the ability to adapt to any sort of issue, be it a civil rights, political, economic, et cetera. You could apply the success/oppression contrast to countless generations past and to come, like empires such as Rome that became so successful because they conquered and colonized at other nations' expense. Or, you could take the message here and use it on current day issues. In the United States one such controversial issue is whether or not businesses like the hydraulic fracturing (fracking) industry are becoming economically successful at the cost of polluting the environment and risking chemicals used in the process (like formaldehyde and mercury) getting into citizens' water sources. I think it ties in nicely with the moral question your poem proposes about "every cruel man's wonderland [being built] of poor man's gold."
As always, I'm a sucker for imagery and literary devices that draw me in and paint vivid pictures in my head. I find no shortage of that here with lines like "glitter fades to black and shining moonlight fades to dust," or "tragic, empty melodies...drown without a care." It's visceral, raw, and so gripping in it's portrayal that I can easily picture everything that you've written, in addition to feeling the dread, despair, and bitter loss your words conjure.
Now, going off of my last thread, it begs the question of what was the poem written for? Was there a purpose in mind when you wrote this, or was it ideas hijacking your brain and using you to get the point across? I kind of like the sillier notion that my ideas are just using me to get themselves written, but since I'm being
Or perhaps this is as much advice to the admirers as it is a warning to the cruel man who hasn't yet abused the downtrodden. Oppressors aren't born; they're made. So maybe this piece could serve as a lesson in history to those looking to achieve greatness, a reminder to attain their wonderlands the honest, fair way before they consume themselves in their pursuit.
Or perhaps this piece is resignation to the inevitable relationship between the successful cruel man and the downtrodden poor man. That in all tales of triumph, someone must fall in order for another to prevail. Is it human nature for one person's will to bow to another? Is it the unavoidable outcome omnipresent in survival of the fittest? Or can we truly aspire to wealth and power without mistreating our brothers and sisters? A loaded question indeed.
I said it once and I'll say it again: I like this piece. I like everything about it, from its totipotent applications to its metaphorical meaning to its tribute to classical writing styles. Everything about it is attention-grabbing and engaging. Needless to say this poem is going right in my favorites, and I can't wait to see what else your muses create.
Keep writing!
Alex