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TORMENT
Posted: 02 August 2006
Word Count: 79
Summary: This is not a new poem but one I wrote ages ago and left in a file. I'd be interested in any comments.
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Purple secrets
carved upon the soul,
hidden rage that
turns a heart to stone,
hollowed caverns
deep inside a mind,
where demons strain
against the chain
and howl in ancient
torment and despair.
Screaming, silent, moaning
in the dark,
as blood and toil
bequeaths the flame
a multi-coloured fear.
Pluming breaths of ice
are found then lost,
they seize the key
that’s rusted in its lock,
beating faster
as the thunder roars,
the creeping horrors
flowered dreams shall mock.
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 Account Closed at 20:03 on 03 August 2006
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There's something very Blakean about this (Songs of Experience?) so I did wonder about separating the piece out into 2/3 line verses as below?
Purple secrets
carved upon the soul,
hidden rage that
turns a heart to stone,
hollowed caverns
deep inside a mind,
where demons strain
against the chain
and howl in ancient
torment and despair.
Screaming, silent, moaning
in the dark,
as blood and toil
bequeaths the flame
a multi-coloured fear.
Pluming breaths of ice
are found then lost,
they seize the key
that’s rusted in its lock,
beating faster
as the thunder roars,
the creeping horrors
flowered dreams shall mock.
I also felt you didn't need the final row of dots and it would be stronger if they weren't there. In any case, it has a powerful dream-like horror about it, which I found particularly gripping. I also like that I don't quite know what's happening - but that's irrelevant. The poem stands by itself and in its own structure - without requiring outside reinterpretation. To my mind anyway!
A
xxx
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Beanie Baby at 07:11 on 04 August 2006
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Wow - thanks, Anne! I think you are right about separating the piece out and I shall make that alteration straight away - it looks ten times better and feels better, too. I don't know why I didn't think of that in the first place. The pauses really add to the sense of being caught in a nightmare you can't escape.
This is one of those rare poems that come from nowhere - but at the same time feel as if they've been hidden deep within yourself your entire life. I don't know where it came from or what is is about. I only know it came gushing out when I was on my way home from work one evening. Maybe I'd had a bad day?
Beanie.
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Account Closed at 07:34 on 04 August 2006
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Lovely to get poems like that, Beanie! - though I'm sorry you'd had a bad day. No doubt writing this wonderful piece made it feel a darn sight better though!
:))
A
xxx
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