Nyyark Posted June 22, 2005 Report Posted June 22, 2005 (edited) Drawing ever nearer toward the Light, Cutout figures fall away as the shadows stretch and distort. My hand no longer reaches for the splatter on my face You don't even blink at the blood Shadows and Paper. The paper sillouttes fold as it all Simplifies, Purifies. Ever closer to the philosopher's desire, Truth, The light, Desire, The Longing. It becomes so intense, The Longing, and it Peels Away the minds of monks. Drawing ever closer, Until we are but the longing and the self. A pause, to exist just a little longer- The We/You/I focus, fuse with the Desire, Longing a bright glow Absolute intensity, then: Face It opens and The Eye flies out A beam of Intensity/Light lances forward So Close, So Slow, then...then...Then..Then, Then, Then THEN THEN- -Event Horizon- Edited June 23, 2005 by Nyyark
Jareena Faye Posted June 23, 2005 Report Posted June 23, 2005 (edited) Nice. No one can doubt what THIS poem is about. I think the first stanza seemed awkward, maybe because I didn't know what kind of rhythm this poem would have. And when you wrote "my hand now longer," did you mean "no longer"? But enough of my whining, I think. I like the interesting, random ways you describe each moment, finding something else to liken it to. My favorite line is, "and it Peels Away the minds of monks." That's cool. I could never think of such a creative way to say, "It's really cool and mysterious and smart people don't get it." Keep writing! Edited June 23, 2005 by Jareena Faye
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