Unwanted

[firewrathed]

With time,
this massive fear siezes me adept-
poetry will lie dead beside the way
leaving me alone with my sordid sorrows,
loyal grievances.

No longer will her mystic steps
haunt the dark castles,
Morbid she will lie there,
eyes fixated upon this moving corpse,
grizzled with own irrelevant despair.

Silently she will die there,
without stretching a helpless finger,
to the man she had once harbored within,
for he has now no time to lean,
another perishable sigh to spare.

[imthefoolonthehill]

exposition on emotions does not cause those emotions within the reader.

Merely naming them does less. If I say joy, will you feel joy? If I say sorrow, will your face turn dour? I doubt it.

Try to inspire feeling rather than vent your own. Until poetry inspires feeling, it feels like a release, like a vent for the poet rather than what it could be.

It is your poem, not mine, and my criticism is harsh in the hopes that others will be as critical of my work. It is through adversity that we make ourselves better.

Keep writing.