Bonnie Prince Charles
05-06-2009, 12:15 PM
Well then, I have decided to grace you all with my poetry, i'll post my stuff for comps and maybe a few others here if I feel like it, i'll keep them all in the first post so check back often.
It would be appreciated if you give constructive criticism or praise, whichever you feel for them, just say the title of the one you are talking about (should be the first line inside the spoiler, if I havent done it remind me to). All praise/criticism will be returned if you have something you want me to look at (link me to your thread), and any questions should be promptly responded to.
Cliché
I told her I loved her
She said it was far too cliché
For a poet like me
So I went back to my notebook
And re-wrote my feelings
For we poets can change our hearts
With but a flick of a pen
Whats the matter? She asked
Don’t you love me anymore?
No I told her
That’s far too cliché for a poet like me
Illusion
Just under that skin
Like a crawling infection
A false image lies there
An illusion of perfection
A careful mask
Conceals every real emotion
Trying to keep above
Drowning in this dark ocean
This you've created
You made your own mess
How does it feel
To plan you own death
You set these high prices
Now you pay the cost
Cant find your way back
And the illusion is lost!
Religion
A mist stares back at me as I stare into your eyes
If the eyes are the gateway to our souls,
Then my vision of you is clouded
That always entranced me
Evolution they say
Like evolves to love
Like ape to man
But then why does love
Feel so much more primitive
The beat of the drum
The loss of control
You move by yourself
Feeling, not thought
Run, not walked
Sirens, not silence
Love is not a science
More, a religion
St. Petersburg
Analyze the streets of a frozen night backed by a blanket of white. This is one thing that was explained but never altered in the blizzard of change that enveloped the city. Was it never changed, or could it never be changed?
Travel the streets of a frost-laden contradiction which bathes in sun during its icy affliction. Heat flows from the body to create equilibrium with its immediate surroundings; Laws of Relativity bring us the sensation of cold.
Classify the streets of a snow-covered history of religions that have reigned over it: Christianity and Science, in that order. The latter is that which is in denial over its classification; the pagan religion that worships Newton, Einstein, and Darwin, of the self-proclaimed open-mindedness denies more than the religion of the self-proclaimed devout. After forty-five minutes, equilibrium has not been attained.
Quantify the streets of a shadowy yet lukewarm mind that does not experiment with that which is understood through the self.
"Maybe it's just cold"
"Improper scientific method"
Naturally, there is a long winded explanation to it:
"Maybe it's just cold because I feel cold"
Understand the streets of a heated mind that has learned feeling so it analyzes, explores, classifies, quantifies, and understands through these feelings instead of an artic "rationality". A mind that has learned the its limits and its mortality, that weeps over lost family because it now feels the cold and can finally explain it. A mind that embraces the ice in order to accept the warmth that no other will feel without feeling. The simple answer to questions is provided through such a mind:
Man stands near-sighted in a mousehole; it looks up, but can never see the sun clearly, yet has the strange ability to feel its rays. After all, "Maybe it's just cold because I feel cold."
It would be appreciated if you give constructive criticism or praise, whichever you feel for them, just say the title of the one you are talking about (should be the first line inside the spoiler, if I havent done it remind me to). All praise/criticism will be returned if you have something you want me to look at (link me to your thread), and any questions should be promptly responded to.
Cliché
I told her I loved her
She said it was far too cliché
For a poet like me
So I went back to my notebook
And re-wrote my feelings
For we poets can change our hearts
With but a flick of a pen
Whats the matter? She asked
Don’t you love me anymore?
No I told her
That’s far too cliché for a poet like me
Illusion
Just under that skin
Like a crawling infection
A false image lies there
An illusion of perfection
A careful mask
Conceals every real emotion
Trying to keep above
Drowning in this dark ocean
This you've created
You made your own mess
How does it feel
To plan you own death
You set these high prices
Now you pay the cost
Cant find your way back
And the illusion is lost!
Religion
A mist stares back at me as I stare into your eyes
If the eyes are the gateway to our souls,
Then my vision of you is clouded
That always entranced me
Evolution they say
Like evolves to love
Like ape to man
But then why does love
Feel so much more primitive
The beat of the drum
The loss of control
You move by yourself
Feeling, not thought
Run, not walked
Sirens, not silence
Love is not a science
More, a religion
St. Petersburg
Analyze the streets of a frozen night backed by a blanket of white. This is one thing that was explained but never altered in the blizzard of change that enveloped the city. Was it never changed, or could it never be changed?
Travel the streets of a frost-laden contradiction which bathes in sun during its icy affliction. Heat flows from the body to create equilibrium with its immediate surroundings; Laws of Relativity bring us the sensation of cold.
Classify the streets of a snow-covered history of religions that have reigned over it: Christianity and Science, in that order. The latter is that which is in denial over its classification; the pagan religion that worships Newton, Einstein, and Darwin, of the self-proclaimed open-mindedness denies more than the religion of the self-proclaimed devout. After forty-five minutes, equilibrium has not been attained.
Quantify the streets of a shadowy yet lukewarm mind that does not experiment with that which is understood through the self.
"Maybe it's just cold"
"Improper scientific method"
Naturally, there is a long winded explanation to it:
"Maybe it's just cold because I feel cold"
Understand the streets of a heated mind that has learned feeling so it analyzes, explores, classifies, quantifies, and understands through these feelings instead of an artic "rationality". A mind that has learned the its limits and its mortality, that weeps over lost family because it now feels the cold and can finally explain it. A mind that embraces the ice in order to accept the warmth that no other will feel without feeling. The simple answer to questions is provided through such a mind:
Man stands near-sighted in a mousehole; it looks up, but can never see the sun clearly, yet has the strange ability to feel its rays. After all, "Maybe it's just cold because I feel cold."