Rage

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The rage it builds; it grows in size;
it claims emotions like a prize;
the dawn of day was yesterday
no time to slay; I didn't pay.

Forgotten things; an untold past;
defrosting wings now held here fast;
time to invade an inner slave;
to end charade, and all I played.


(what say you?)




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Points 1823
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hello there =)

I really liked your poem. It flows perfectly, seriously- awesome rhythm =)

I just have one little nitpick-

line one:

The rage it builds; it grows in size;


It would look much better like: "The rage- it builds" or: "The rage: it builds" or something, you know? Just a suggestion :wink:

Oh, and one more (sorry)

the dawn of day was yesterday


That line was a little repetitive. "The dawn of day"... You might want to substitute something else for day, because, well, if there's a dawn, it's obviously gonna be in the day.

Oh, and just one more, I promise!

um last line (I don't feel like quoting it lol) on the first paragraph... You didn't pay for what??

But I really loved the last paragraph, though. You have so much talent!

-ash
Alone- alone- all- all- alone
Upon the wide, wide sea-
And God will not take pity on
My soul in agony!
- Mary Shelley




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Now most people don't realy focus that much if a poem is too long and dismiss it as being bad if it's too short. Yours was a little on the short side considering what you were writing about aka I would have loved for their to be another stanza cause it rocked. I particularly liked the first one but maybe that might be because I know pretty much what your meaning. Nice image of the wings in the second stanza and yeah, twas good. Well done ;)
The opposite of courage is not cowardice but conformity

Bee is in the house bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz




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I don't have much to say...

I just like it... :)
Scipio: Do you know what happens here after dark? Things little eyes should never, ever see.
Bo: We're not scared.
Scipio: Not scared? Well, aren't you the little tiger? RAWR!



Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses ... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth—reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light.
— Guildenstern (Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard)