my genuine extempore : "Revenge"

[darkprince]

You think you can be free?
You think you can be safe,
from me?
The smell of my blood,
on your finger tips,
no scent can diminish,
the stink of your sin.


I saw you as my sibling,
I was always,
by your side.
My wealth or my life,
what made you jealous?
Why did you do it?


I lost my chance,
my only chance,
to live with the girl,
who was made for me,
who would have even,
given up her own life,
for me !


My body is dead,
decaying and drying,
now a part of the earth.
I'm now a soul.
I will have no peace,
until you suffer with misery,
until your eyes fill with blood !


I'm coming,
to taunt your days,
to remove each of your veins,
to make you taste,
my revenge !

[Silas Thorne]

Good first posting. Delightfully macabre! :)

It does read like prose however. Putting commas in the middle of sentences where they shouldn't really be doesn't really make it any more poetic.

eg.:
I was always,
by your side.

to make you taste,
my revenge !

to live with the girl,
who was made for me,

I'm not sure how the 'soul' speaking through the poem can remove their enemy's veins though. Let's leave that up to you. ;)

[darkprince]

Hey silas,
I'm sooo glad that you replied to my poem.
May be because i just dont knw how to write a poem that rhymes or it may
be because i believe that, what is more important is that the reader should understand the message through the poem rather than its rhythm.
And about the soul..hehe..that the reader should bring out his imaginative thoughts, like the soul with its supernatural powers wanting to kill that other person :P ...

[hillwalker]

Not knowing how to write a poem that rhymes is not a problem to most of us on here - there are poems that rhyme and poems that don't. Trying to stick with rhyme in the mistaken belief that all poems must rhyme is doomed to failure.

Having said that, this does read rather like prose; but there are enough lyrical touches to rescue it.

As for content, perhaps the reader would rather discover more about the anguish of this poor soul and a little less of the background presented in verses 2 and 3 - the back-story is not detailed enough to matter at all, but is still distracting enough to weaken the impact of the final verse.

H

[darkprince]

I was an angel before,
The world like a home,
Where i could ease my soul.

A moment was all,
That made me a beast,
Love was meaningless,
just a word to ponder.

A thirst for blood,
a hunger for soul,
I had become the one,
Who was feared by all.

I found my joy,
In others pain,
Their screams,
A reason for laughter.
The taste of their blood,
Made me worse than the damned.

Religion is the demon,
His power made me strong.
This world is now,
Just a puppet for my strings.
Alas,within me,
His claws have clenched tight,
I can breathe no more.

My heart is wounded,
my hands are chained.
Free me,
from this pit of death,
make me a real human.

[darkprince]

Hey Hillwalker,
thank u soo much for ur review..
and ehh i write short poems, thats why dint write anything in detail....
i'm soo happy you read what i wrote :)

[hillwalker]

You might like to read the rules on here for posting - no more than 1 new thread a day (so these 2 poems should really be posted on the same thread).

As for the poem itself, again it does tend to read like prose. For the most part this is a list of statements broken up into separate lines so it 'looks' like poetry.

The last two verses stand out as the best part of this piece.

But you do need to 'show' a little more of what lies behind the character or situation and 'tell' less. Read other poetry in order to see how it's not just a case of reporting facts; it's a way of inviting your readers to see something in a new way due to your imaginative use of words or metaphors.

H

[darkprince]

@hillwalker :
Oh ok, i'm new to this forum...
hmmm i guess i have a lot to learn !!!

[darkprince]

I'd been waiting for you,
all these years.
And finally,
when i found you,
you are so far away.


Don't you remember,
i flew half way,
across the world,
to have a glimpse at you,
to look into your eyes,
to wonder at your smile.


I touched your hand,
that day.
At that moment,
that second,
i felt your love,
i felt your heart.


I have nothing,
to buy you your dreams.
If i ever had,
all the riches,
this world would have been,
under your name.
I have no dreams,
for you are my world
and you are mine.


I hear your voice,
every day.
But no more,
i can listen to it,
for it brings me tears,
it hurts that you are far away.


Promises cannot be kept,
but you know,
that i would keep my word,
for you know me well,
more than myself.
We will be together.

ehh guys, my poems are all prose-poetry.... :)

[hillwalker]

Oh ok, i'm new to this forum...
hmmm i guess i have a lot to learn !!!

We've all taken the same first step you have. And this is a great place to get your feet wet.

H

[Delta40]

what is prose?

[darkprince]

Like a victorious king,
death behind him.
I held my chin high,
contempted those who were blind.

Thoughts born in my mind,
I made a sculpture.
Alas !, they were just pebbles.
I walked with pleasure,
the path was to doom.

I then met you,
destiny or God's wish.
You found the dirt,
blessed my eyes.
Oh I can see well,
indebted to you all this life.

[hillwalker]

This is more like it DP

I'm not sure if you intended 'contempted' to be 'contemplated'

but we can see more of your narrator from this than from your earlier pieces - and yet still have to use our imagination to picture who he really is.

H

[PrinceMyshkin]

The trouble for me with all of these is that so many poems have been written about wounded love, betrayed love, rejected love that one goes (or I at least go) into automatic pilot reading these. There's more hurt in these than there is art. One needs, I think, to write coldly, the more coldly the hotter one is burning up.

[darkprince]

I wrote a zillion,
'poet' I called myself.
Paintings I drew,
not brushes but with words,
beautiful illusions I dreamt,
just dreams, I repeat.

A passer by,
he pitied my wounds.
Never he loathed me,
the reason, I reflected his past.

Attempts,
not one but many,
once more I drew,
a masterpiece, I wished it to be.

My friend the stranger,
observed it with care,
his advise now on my mind.
Failure cannot stop me,
try and try, I will, until I thrive.