deepundergroundpoetry.com
He isn't you.
He isn't wishful paper cranes,
or Paris dreams during cold
Autumn nights. He isn't You.
But, he's trying so hard to
make me forget [ you you you… ]
like pressed flowers hidden
between the bindings of
unfinished books, placed
at the top of dusty shelves.
His eyes are supernovas,
dead and lonely.
They don't sparkle like
your blue ocean iris's.
But…He loves me.
I can feel it through
shy smiles and the way
he touches me with
gentle artist fingers.
[ He makes
me want to write
p o e t r y. ]
or Paris dreams during cold
Autumn nights. He isn't You.
But, he's trying so hard to
make me forget [ you you you… ]
like pressed flowers hidden
between the bindings of
unfinished books, placed
at the top of dusty shelves.
His eyes are supernovas,
dead and lonely.
They don't sparkle like
your blue ocean iris's.
But…He loves me.
I can feel it through
shy smiles and the way
he touches me with
gentle artist fingers.
[ He makes
me want to write
p o e t r y. ]
Published 23rd Oct 2011
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The author encourages honest critique.
...which succeeeds in presenting cliche in an artful way. I say that, because I don't normally finish love poems that mention Paris nights & blue ocean eyes, etc - but the honesty of feeling you've captured here held my attention.
If this was mine I wouldn't change a lot, maybe find a way to write around the two 'likes' at L6 & L12 (but that's a pet hate which I equate with clunkiness, because I think using that word in a poem can seem ugly 'like' exposing the movement of a clock when you're better staring at the face)
And thank you, Cayleigh - I was entertained.
If this was mine I wouldn't change a lot, maybe find a way to write around the two 'likes' at L6 & L12 (but that's a pet hate which I equate with clunkiness, because I think using that word in a poem can seem ugly 'like' exposing the movement of a clock when you're better staring at the face)
And thank you, Cayleigh - I was entertained.
