This My Don

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f-cynyr
f-cynyr
10 Followers

This my Don beyond the
frail limits of flesh,
in the silver eye of
your want, lays
the limit of your passage.
Your jousting after spent
promises,
are the fires that
rage and lick
against this flesh-clad doom.

In your new age,
with words that pray
and chant
in the opaque air,
of your thoughts you gallop
flinching into your
denied possibilities.
Your yell against the howling wind
quakes this world and
defies denial.
But ebbs flaccid and silent in the end.

When the whole
sea broils
red with lust
and eludes your grasping
hands, and questing heart,
your defiance of the limit of
flesh and purpose
turns into a preordained crusade
that collapses
hollow and soulless.

The world new
with tilting
and wobble that
you stagger through,
to some secret
prison that you
found in the quiet
of your dark private
space, safe from
waking despair.

The vertigo of
the new
drifts you beyond
trees and roots,
to lands on the
edges of your map.
There be windmills and dragons,
damsels and giants,
that float
only in your
eyes and wishes.

Their fires scald
and singe you,
in your mighty solitude,
questing to the edges.
Mesmerised and enthralled
beyond your flesh,
yet bound by
blood and bone
to the curse cast
upon your passage,
never to step beyond the edge
of the map of your body.

You move and in
motion,
defy the prophecies and
tragedies.
Yet your yell and charge of defiance
falls limp at the
final limit of frail flesh.

f-cynyr
f-cynyr
10 Followers
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  • COMMENTS
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7 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousabout 18 years ago
wow,

this is an amazing poem. The images are just mind blowing, and the insight into the human condition is awe inspiring.

RantGirlRantGirlabout 18 years ago
amazing ...

I felt like I was reading a medeival song ... really loved this one.

sandd_boundsandd_boundover 18 years ago
you...

are amazing...i'm not sure how you do it.

TheRainManTheRainManover 18 years ago
I was not going to comment,

but after reading the comment below, I decided to, since it gives the impression (which you might actually believe, god forbid) that there is no proofreading needed in your two poems. In the other, you even spelled the title wrong!

And here, just using the first stanza as example, you have two glaring punctuation errors. To properly read that stanza, you need a comma after 'Don' in the initial senctence, and you must remove the comma after "promises."

Those minor errors are not my point, however. The signs of talent are everywhere in your writing. The thought patterns, the language. This, as just one example of many I could pick, is excellent:

"The world new with tilting and wobble that you stagger through..." (though it is poorly broken apart in your poem)

The point is that I think the comment below mine is short-sighted. Your poetry is structurally weak, so much so that it actually might hide, to some eyes, the talent you possess. So,

you can choose to listen to the voices of comfort, telling you how good your poem is (and one of those voices may even be coming from inside yourself), or you can realize that you have talent and that everyone has the ability to improve, if they wish to, and are willing to search and figure out how to do it.

I suggest you start that search for self-improvement. I can feel a lot of skill inside, just waiting for a way to get out.

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