HopperWolf Posted June 11, 2003 Report Posted June 11, 2003 Cacophony Is waves upon a cliff, Screaming voices, The wind’s raging voice. Deep pulsing beat By which life is motion, Unchained screeching, Flowing melody. The sound of the world changes From old to young, But ‘tis always the same song sung. Howling of strings Our choir of angels, Looking Upon A corrupted state. Shostakovich, His name taken in vain, Highest honour That we could bestow. The sound of society, From high to low, Has always been to strike a blow. Random mess, Beautiful construct, Revolving noise Our beautiful song. The sound of generations, From young to old, Always meaningless disorder. This is our madness, This is our noise.
reverie Posted June 14, 2003 Report Posted June 14, 2003 ...hmm, poetic ranting... and lament... I could only find the flow of it, when I spoke it aloud in a fierce foward leaning varied accented approach... Not bad, but you might try experimenting with different kinds of structures to free up the flow... Just follow whatever rythems in your head... rev...
HopperWolf Posted June 23, 2003 Author Report Posted June 23, 2003 Thanks for your comment, rev. The change is minor, call it a lil experiment. Does it flow any better? or make more sense? Cacophony is waves upon a cliff, And screaming voices, The wind’s raging voice. Deep pulsing beat our life in motion, This unchained screeching, Is a flowing melody. The sound of the world changes From old to young, But it’s always the same song sung. Howling of strings made choir of angels, Looking Upon A corrupted state. Shostakovich’s name taken in vain, That’s the highest honour That we could bestow. The sound of society, From high to low, Has always been to strike a blow. Random mess, Beautiful construct, Revolving noise Our beautiful song. The sound of generations, From young to old, Always meaningless disorder. This is our madness, This is our noise.
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