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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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Posted (edited)

Symbolic of putting people on pedestals and then not listening when they request to be helped down. It was also written to attempt to answer a question I asked myself, but I wont go into details as they are not needed. Perhaps its a subtle reminder that often people are held in such high regards, that they might feel trapped in a world they consider never changing... I am not really sure.

 

Written in about 5 minutes or so, reread once (so there is prolly spelling errors) and I am sure there are mistakes...but posted here (instead of the workshop) as it is complete and I do not plan on rewriting it.

 

blood soaked feathers

in a rusty cage

cloudless sky

cloudless soul

 

a whisper for help

not a scream or a cry

no reason to live

no reason to die

 

this is your world

your heart does not ache

forever the same

forever unnoticed

 

unaware of the signs

faith in illusions

ignorant bliss

ignorant pain

 

belief in fiction

no sense in truth

consumed with idols

consumed with beliefs

 

a phantom visage

a heavenly crown

forgotten in love

forgotten in remorse

 

words spoken clearly

salvation divine

wings for ascension

wings for declension

 

the saga is over

forever beloved

by all those who knew her

by all but herself

Edited by Rune
Posted

nice. the short stanzas and verse create fleeting, blurry images which quickly change adding a somewhat fast pace to the poem. charming yet sad.

Posted

wow.

 

As someone who's been accused of pedestal pushing, this causes me to step back and think -

 

always a good response to a poem...

 

thank you for posting.

Posted

Its name is Whisper, this small owl that sits on his shoulder as he closes the small and well-worn book through which he had been leafing. He speaks softly in the tongue of those things which move about in the air and the small owl takes the book in its talons and flies silently into the banquet room. Hooting quietly to attract the attention of the small one, the owl drops the book into her hands. It turns and its silent flight carries it swiftly away from this place of light and sound. The book itself is a small drama written some time ago by a young Eugene O’Neill and is titled The Great God Brown.

 

ooc: Rune, you might enjoy reading this play if you can find it. It deals with a subject similar to the one in your poem. The play is about a young man who protects himself by means of a mask, only to find himself unable to remove it because the young woman he loves has herself fallen in love with the mask he wears and refuses to ever recognize him as the person he truly is. I’ve seen the play in collections of O’Neill’s work.

Posted

Cyril - that reminds me in a strange way of the Living mask Cyrano De Berziac (spelling?) hid behind.

 

Jose Ferrier's rendition, though black and white, is still my standard for Cyrano.

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