deepundergroundpoetry.com
Unfinished
There's death in the eyes
Of this unfinished page
Images still left veiled
To the unsuspecting mind
The viewer may not forgive
The unbrushed stroke
The poet may cringe
The word left unwrote
Oh to be the conveyor of words
Oh to be the ocular muse
Where word and image are
Considered one and the same
Prophetic and heretic
The lines we must walk
With the pen in our hand
And our ear to the ground
With the splicing of words
I make room for the monsters
Every single incision becomes
My word made flesh
I look now with eyes
So blatantly dull
Can you read this for me
Inquiring minds want to know
Of this unfinished page
Images still left veiled
To the unsuspecting mind
The viewer may not forgive
The unbrushed stroke
The poet may cringe
The word left unwrote
Oh to be the conveyor of words
Oh to be the ocular muse
Where word and image are
Considered one and the same
Prophetic and heretic
The lines we must walk
With the pen in our hand
And our ear to the ground
With the splicing of words
I make room for the monsters
Every single incision becomes
My word made flesh
I look now with eyes
So blatantly dull
Can you read this for me
Inquiring minds want to know
Published 24th Feb 2022
Author's Note
This poem is about the societal standards of finishing what you start, at all costs, even if you lose your very soul in the process
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
24th Feb 2022 1:38pm
Hello there and welcome 👋
That third stanza is beautiful in its musings of what is and what isn’t living. I found that the most vivid part of this.
The last stanza is interesting too when it says “can you read this for me, inquiring minds want to know” because it almost communicated this sense of vulnerability. A sense of longing that we want the company of the reader, even if we feel alone behind the pen.
It was an interesting snippet, this one. Thank you for sharing.
-M
That third stanza is beautiful in its musings of what is and what isn’t living. I found that the most vivid part of this.
The last stanza is interesting too when it says “can you read this for me, inquiring minds want to know” because it almost communicated this sense of vulnerability. A sense of longing that we want the company of the reader, even if we feel alone behind the pen.
It was an interesting snippet, this one. Thank you for sharing.
-M
24th Feb 2022 10:49pm
Thank you for that. That last stanza is like an anguished cry for someone else to care because I didn't want to stand alone.
