deepundergroundpoetry.com
9.41.16.09.16
Walking through this endless desert
The end is a mirage shifting ahead - a taunting djinn,
Enticing onwards with sweet, copper allure,
Promises cool and soothing against heated skin.
Every time I catch that watery ghost,
No matter how quick or convicted my response,
I fall only to hard ground and dirt.
The writhe-wind laughs, and it hurts.
God, it hurts.
Sand gathers in every rag-cloth crease,
So each churlish shift is gritty with pain
And ground teeth.
It fills my shoes - my bones -
It eats at my soul, and I am weary with it.
So weary of it all.
The sun is a burden.
There's nothing to eat but sand.
The horizon is lost to dust-thick air,
Rough-yarn sanity reeled out behind.
I travel to that edge - the cool end ahead
Unenlightened as to where desert meets beach
Only knowing I'm not really dead, and reason's beyond reach.
I'm sick of it hurting.
Sick of being.
Tired of the shifting sands,
Stealing my feet from beneath me.
The end is a mirage shifting ahead - a taunting djinn,
Enticing onwards with sweet, copper allure,
Promises cool and soothing against heated skin.
Every time I catch that watery ghost,
No matter how quick or convicted my response,
I fall only to hard ground and dirt.
The writhe-wind laughs, and it hurts.
God, it hurts.
Sand gathers in every rag-cloth crease,
So each churlish shift is gritty with pain
And ground teeth.
It fills my shoes - my bones -
It eats at my soul, and I am weary with it.
So weary of it all.
The sun is a burden.
There's nothing to eat but sand.
The horizon is lost to dust-thick air,
Rough-yarn sanity reeled out behind.
I travel to that edge - the cool end ahead
Unenlightened as to where desert meets beach
Only knowing I'm not really dead, and reason's beyond reach.
I'm sick of it hurting.
Sick of being.
Tired of the shifting sands,
Stealing my feet from beneath me.
Published 16th Sep 2016
| Edited 19th Sep 2016
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The author encourages honest critique.
Sounds like trying to dance with a whirling dervish. We are the creators of most of our problems. Sometimes a lack of coping skills feels like failure, but it's not. We simply can't fix the problem if we've never had the right tools can we? The tools are out there to be had and within us as well. Look inward and ignore everything else.
This is what I call a 'my opinion' critique. I'm no writing expert and I''m certainly not picking on you, you're a brilliant writer. That being said:
"Promising cool and soothing against heated skin" Hmmm?...
'Enticing onward' is unnecessary to have in there. As well as the first three lines of your last stanza.
Enjoyed,
-ed
This is what I call a 'my opinion' critique. I'm no writing expert and I''m certainly not picking on you, you're a brilliant writer. That being said:
"Promising cool and soothing against heated skin" Hmmm?...
'Enticing onward' is unnecessary to have in there. As well as the first three lines of your last stanza.
Enjoyed,
-ed
19th Sep 2016 9:43am
Whirling dervish is a pretty good description. Some of my problems can't be fixed, only lived with, and I've only recently come to accept that. I guess I'm still learning to dance ;)
Ah, I admit I posted in a hurry - the first is amended. I'll have to think about that last part though.
Thank you for your words and critques - I appreciate it.
Ah, I admit I posted in a hurry - the first is amended. I'll have to think about that last part though.
Thank you for your words and critques - I appreciate it.
Anonymous
16th Sep 2016 11:44am
<< post removed >>
19th Sep 2016 9:44am
