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War Poem
#1
O, Divine Tremor That Has Parted Us!
Curse the crumble of fire, ash, and dust,
Unbeknownst to love that flourished in autumn days,
The land shifts and rifts to darkened haze, far from joyous sun rays, and tender ways.
O, Torrent That Has Swept Over Me,
That Has Washed Me Ashore And Set Me Out To Sea!
Waves and breakers have pulled me from your fine, bright, pearl eyes,
And the light that beckons me from them slowly dies.
O, Ember That Once Burned Through The Cold Winter Night!
Why has the blaze of glory dimmed our earnest light!
Tempest of roaring thunder, lightning that gouges the breeze like a dagger,
Game Hunter, smooth in sound, but strikes without notice, leaving its weak prey to stagger,
O, Fool That I Am!
Curse my shattered bones, buried in stones, deaf from moans of all tones!
Curse the stinging downpour of blood, mud,
washed away by the flood!
Curse the air, and curse the sea,
curse Death's stare, and O, Curse Me!
That eyes have seen and ears have heard,
That minds perceived and hearts have stirred,
O, My Love, forgive me this,
your sweet honey touch I will miss,
how I will long for it through the day,
and weep for it through the night.
Oh, one more thing, I'm Gay,
I got this filipino dude coming with me and were both tight.


I wonder how many of you actually read the whole thing. Tongue
Got one. Smile
***Read-Team Yoshi-***
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#2
"Game Hunter, smooth in sound, but strikes without notice, leaving its weak prey to stagger,"
and the three last lines don't have the right rythm.
Good poem, a cliché, but still good.
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YOU HAVE TO FEEL WHAT YOU DRAW, FEEL
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#3
It was horribly dripping with lolling tongues.
Take that and chew it. xD

I think that there were a lot of nice bits in there, the idea of lightning being reminiscent of a dagger, the way it stabs the sky.
The only thing to truly set this as a "i have to go to war babe, love ya" is the title of the poem.

Maybe something about marching boots, you dont have to ground it in reality by saying anything particularly war related, but mention something material. Empty boots pounding way through the ground. Maybe play off the dagger of lightning, that it's dueling with bobbing bayonettes.

And I do hope that the last two lines dont belong to the poem in all reality. ><

Nothing more or less useless than imagining that there is more to be done. Recall: no matter what is new there will always be these hands and these sandwiches. The enlightenment came and went and sliced bread was our creation— the best to be had. There can be no avenues of intellectual discord. We will always fold our food and put it into our mouths, long after our bodies forget what to do with it.
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