deepundergroundpoetry.com
My City
Walking in the city
I bring with me
A shadow of the end.
Pouring rain and clouds above,
Lightning strikes
And thunder pounds.
Street lights dim,
As I pace ‘round,
Arms lifted up,
A gate to the bowels of hell.
I wait at a bus stop
With no destination,
While wind howls by.
The bus crawls to a stop,
The driver in a light blue shirt
Stained by blood pouring from his neck.
He has been beheaded
I climb the steps his head not in sight,
The passengers all look alike,
None have heads.
All bleed profusely
All cling to life very loosely,
You would think this is a horrific sight,
But I am used to it now.
No trace of fright
Wherever I go,
Whoever I see,
Everyone knows not to get close to me.
I sometimes wonder where all their heads go,
I haven’t seen a face in quite awhile.
Perhaps somewhere there are many heads
In one bloody pile
I bring with me
A shadow of the end.
Pouring rain and clouds above,
Lightning strikes
And thunder pounds.
Street lights dim,
As I pace ‘round,
Arms lifted up,
A gate to the bowels of hell.
I wait at a bus stop
With no destination,
While wind howls by.
The bus crawls to a stop,
The driver in a light blue shirt
Stained by blood pouring from his neck.
He has been beheaded
I climb the steps his head not in sight,
The passengers all look alike,
None have heads.
All bleed profusely
All cling to life very loosely,
You would think this is a horrific sight,
But I am used to it now.
No trace of fright
Wherever I go,
Whoever I see,
Everyone knows not to get close to me.
I sometimes wonder where all their heads go,
I haven’t seen a face in quite awhile.
Perhaps somewhere there are many heads
In one bloody pile
Published 9th Sep 2009
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9th Sep 2009 9:03am
This poem completly threw my interpritation around. Haha. Not in a bad way. Its an awesome twist! I read "My City", the title, and thought, okeh, this may be about a home town, or imaginative place to go. I began reading, and the first few lines made me believe that the narrator owned the city, literally. Then it completly flips me, right here:
"You would think this is a horrific sight,
But I am used to it now.
No trace of fright
Wherever I go,
Whoever I see,
Everyone knows not to get close to me."
Either a psychopath viewing the norm as a hell, or a gate. Or a killer, beheading those who come close, thus being the reason no one wants to come close to thee.
Being read from my point of view, thats what I picked up, and I thought it was excellent :)
But if i miss interpreted it, let me know. I will read it over more. ;)
"You would think this is a horrific sight,
But I am used to it now.
No trace of fright
Wherever I go,
Whoever I see,
Everyone knows not to get close to me."
Either a psychopath viewing the norm as a hell, or a gate. Or a killer, beheading those who come close, thus being the reason no one wants to come close to thee.
Being read from my point of view, thats what I picked up, and I thought it was excellent :)
But if i miss interpreted it, let me know. I will read it over more. ;)
9th Sep 2009 10:31am
I loved you interpretation, it was exactly what I wanted from the poem, thank you for the useful review.
Anonymous
10th Sep 2009 9:46pm
Nightmarish stuff. If Edgar Allen Poe were alive today, I think he'd write something like this.
10th Sep 2009 11:29pm
11th Sep 2009 00:38am
I love the absence of emotion combined with the character's accute awareness of detail. Cold and calculating control. Very well done!
11th Sep 2009 3:24am
My favorite part of this was the last two lines:
"Perhaps somewhere there are many heads
In one bloody pile"
goosebump inspiring
"Perhaps somewhere there are many heads
In one bloody pile"
goosebump inspiring
11th Sep 2009 4:26am
Well I agree with Pierre n Kylee...loved the absence of emotion nd the last two lines are the best!!!...keep up da good work:)
11th Sep 2009 9:37pm
it shows that u read Edgar Allen Poe and you're doing his legacy justice. this poem is phenomenal and very inquistitive. anyone who has ever felt pain can relate to it and thats something ive always tried 2 grasp with my pieces. its so lively and yet so still simultaneously; almost as if told through the eyes of a stoic...if you can't tell already, i love this poem. keep it up
14th Sep 2009 3:24am
22nd Feb 2011 5:39pm
this is my kind of read. people can be so impersonal, or maybe it's just me. I often feel a disconnect with the strangers I pass, because I sense an exchange of judgment between us. This poem breaks everyone down equally - all blood spewing, all alive, all headless as a result of our severed connection to one another.
