Published March 24, 2009
Black fire paralyzed their eyes.
Their presence disturbed none-
a simple change in the wind.
He cringed into a small corner,
face splattered with dark mud.
These chills questioned no one,
Left to do fiery business.
The odd mist on the ground ignored.
Sunken eyes watched like vultures.
Continue on with normal life,
the village knew not what to come.
His precious small hands twiddled,
Their childlike nature conceived.
The moon hung like a menace,
and He struck with vigor.
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Canary word: Present
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142,264 Literary Works • 677,103 Reviews
It looks like other critics got here first. Oh, but I do just want to say, toss the ending line, the repetition isn't needed. The line before that works just as well. Oh, wait, they already covered that too. Oh well! I give it a two-thumbs-and-a-big-toe-up!
First impression: fix the damn formatting. Now. It hurts to read.
M-dash or colon rather than comma.
In my opinion, splattered works better than spurted.
After this point, the poem just spiraled down into an incoherent mass of words. What is going on? Mist? Village? Child? Where did these things come from? And how does the half of the poem relate to them? Elaborate on this.
[spoiler]5/10[/spoiler]