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What do you guys think of these poems. i'd like some constructive criticism please, don't just say it sucks. Thnx

Wake

Wake before the tundra eats you whole. Speak ill of the crescent crevasse and only of those that feed you. Holy ground- This is the land our fathers raped, dragging the carcass of our lord naked and blindfolded before his sons execution. This is where we build our 50% off, instant coffee bomb shelters. This is where we plan the mutilation of the masses of which we do not know, of the collective which is of a different creed. Listen to how we worship the nothing machine, the ambiguous ever-present, omnipotent orb that fills our mind with dilapidated and watered-down truths and half lies.

Drifting (Everybody Hurts)-

Everybody hurts, even the lovebirds that bask in the glow of moonlit fields on borrowed, but uncounted time. The sum of the energy that fills the serpent with vicious jealousy, for he will never rise from the murky undergrowth which swallows the beacons of acute light with feverish glee. Hate fills the alcoves of the monochrome sunset inconspicuously; nothing is noticed in the small world between the parting of two lips. When one is reformed to two, the celestial nightmare will seek vengeance on the dissemblance of a previous unity. Is it right to feel sorry the one who did you wrong in the name of love, who chose your polar opposite to diminish the feeling of stark emptiness? The aftermath is a silver lining of a golden temple where anything was possible but nothing was achieved. Seven limbed spotlights cry down on us, give us borrowed time so we can grow rich and fat on the gaunt of others. Time is up- the calling of perseverance is the searing firebrand that splits our nonchalant meandering. We are left drifting, drifting without a purpose, drifting, drifting without a heart and without meaning. We should have died at the cross-road, drifting. Dignified answers are all we have left but it is too late, we are drifting, drifting, drifting.

Pacifist

Bleeding hearts heal the wounds of minds, we breathe the transient bombs killing my family. Ambiguous flesh-coloured tourniquets wake up to find vineal leeches sucking any hope of colours painting hatred of benevolent fugitives. Pain is a hollow pill to swallow, the breakneck neckbreaker of the cornucopia metropolis. Guilt trip flashes through tin can spider webs. Metronomes of drowning rats, bile spiked tongues speak tales of new lands, lands of promise.

08-09-2003, 10:10 AM	#1
Reso Level 3 - Talker Join Date: Nov 2002 Location: Male Posts: 15 Bincount™: 0	Poems on the verge of something interesting... What do you guys think of these poems. i'd like some constructive criticism please, don't just say it sucks. Thnx Wake Wake before the tundra eats you whole. Speak ill of the crescent crevasse and only of those that feed you. Holy ground- This is the land our fathers raped, dragging the carcass of our lord naked and blindfolded before his sons execution. This is where we build our 50% off, instant coffee bomb shelters. This is where we plan the mutilation of the masses of which we do not know, of the collective which is of a different creed. Listen to how we worship the nothing machine, the ambiguous ever-present, omnipotent orb that fills our mind with dilapidated and watered-down truths and half lies. Drifting (Everybody Hurts)- Everybody hurts, even the lovebirds that bask in the glow of moonlit fields on borrowed, but uncounted time. The sum of the energy that fills the serpent with vicious jealousy, for he will never rise from the murky undergrowth which swallows the beacons of acute light with feverish glee. Hate fills the alcoves of the monochrome sunset inconspicuously; nothing is noticed in the small world between the parting of two lips. When one is reformed to two, the celestial nightmare will seek vengeance on the dissemblance of a previous unity. Is it right to feel sorry the one who did you wrong in the name of love, who chose your polar opposite to diminish the feeling of stark emptiness? The aftermath is a silver lining of a golden temple where anything was possible but nothing was achieved. Seven limbed spotlights cry down on us, give us borrowed time so we can grow rich and fat on the gaunt of others. Time is up- the calling of perseverance is the searing firebrand that splits our nonchalant meandering. We are left drifting, drifting without a purpose, drifting, drifting without a heart and without meaning. We should have died at the cross-road, drifting. Dignified answers are all we have left but it is too late, we are drifting, drifting, drifting. Pacifist Bleeding hearts heal the wounds of minds, we breathe the transient bombs killing my family. Ambiguous flesh-coloured tourniquets wake up to find vineal leeches sucking any hope of colours painting hatred of benevolent fugitives. Pain is a hollow pill to swallow, the breakneck neckbreaker of the cornucopia metropolis. Guilt trip flashes through tin can spider webs. Metronomes of drowning rats, bile spiked tongues speak tales of new lands, lands of promise. __________________ _____________________________ HaLo- LuNAtic riDe-BuY it noW _____________________________
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