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Untitled

by Ming 

Posted: 08 September 2003
Word Count: 337
Summary: Just a freestyle poem i did. Can't stand using all those rules.


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Life is strive but never will I end it with a knife cause only time can dry up the crimson that bleeds with much success,
Rather I die to try or wonder why I should lie,
Or ponder what seems to be ahead,
I walk I talk I feel nothing but a fallen silence much like my old friend darkness which clouds my mind in delusions,
Of the past sufferings I once knew and felt and breathed in like a never ending dream,
Repeating and repeating and repeating that jagged knife tears away at my head with constant precision and undaunting rhythm,
Cutting me apart from what seems to be reality and secluding me from society,
For in this realm I knew no variety,
I knew not what was wrong or what was true and false,
There lived no judge who cursed and prosecuted me with a narrow minded law,
Or chains that bound me to the wall,
For they have fallen and crumbled at my feet,
With what I knew I could only conjure a plan,
But silently another has its plan of murder in thought,
Not a murder of physical pain but a mental game,
Not tame at heart but rather wild and not sane,
For what this other wanted was for me to go insane in the brain,
And die a heartless and bitter failure that deserved nothing but the cruelty and savage anger from the maddening crowds that plot my final course,
Death,
Not a simple bullet in the heart or one through the temple but a slow and unbearable torture that only consisted of mind games,
Ranging from ones of jealousy, to hate, to love, to fear, to all that I would never dare say or preach,
For Iím no saint nor am I the devil but a simple culprit stuck in ones own desolate thoughts that never seem to move forward or toward a new goal,
But relentlessly rewind until I resign from my position as one who liveís his life.






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Comments by other Members



Richard Brown at 17:06 on 27 April 2004  Report this post
Bleak! but powerful too. Reads like a real call from the heart. There's much about isolation and inescapable suffering (my interpretation is that even suicide would provide no escape from torment). I wonder about the 'simple culprit' remark in the third line from the end - as though the suffering is the result of some dreadful sin yet earlier on you say; 'I knew not what was wrong or what was true or false'. If the feelings were yours rather than imagined ones I hope that they have eased. Interesting poem.
Richard.

paul53 [for I am he] at 09:40 on 05 March 2005  Report this post
A powerful and accomplished piece just picked up very late in Random Read.

As for "Can't stand using all those rules" - they are not hide-bound musts about these. Nevertheless, understanding what those rules are is like learning to drive a car: first you do it by the book, then you make your own shortcuts.

No more work uploaded since 2003? Join here fulltime and join a group. I certainly would like to read more of your work.


Felmagre at 09:10 on 25 June 2005  Report this post
Read this today in the Random Read. This sounds, reads, feels like a personal experience of one who endured a rebellion and its consequence say in Tiannimum square for instance, or having more than one child in a land where rebellion and no more than one child is permitted. A person enduring isolation, stigma, social rejection and mental torture.
A well written piece which draws you in and somehow makes you experience and deef another person's pain. deeply disturbing.


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