Poetry / Allergic To Air (Complete)
The sun’s luminary light,
The water colored air,
A child’s merriment,
The mocking bird concerts,
The “smile” the earth gives:
I am immune to it.
The sun’s sharp rays
Hurt me and burn me like swords of flame.
The ocean blue
Chokes and drowns with its salty nails.
A child’s mirth is no child.
It is the hysteria of only an abandoned wind.
The mocking bird does not sing.
Its neck is broken and lies dead with the wind’s hysterics.
Instead, a chorus sings
A lament accompanied by organs.
And the smile, the smile.
It is the smile of the Devil.
I am losing her
And a far off memory that will shine like a gold trophy.
The sun looks down at this and continues to mock.
It has betrayed me all along. A hellish light that only taunts me.
A whine of wanting love of him as if I have ignored her.
I have almost lost a friend
Pacing in this black abyss. I felt nothing.
Now I know what true hell feels like—-
It is being alone, forgotten, lost
And still living. Rolling in a wheel of razors you insisted on building.
The roots of the elm tree beat me down, down, down.
I fear the flames the fire feels.
I fear the sounds of the corrupt.
The lust for suppression of the light.
The selfish bastardies in me.
The burden of only wanting to scare.
This feeling of being immune to life
And allergic to the air.
What have I to sorrow?
The bombs of Hiroshima drop onto me
Like guilt from a feeble-minded madness.
I have chosen this death.
Knocking on the walls of my sanity
Have led me here -into my own hell.
Now I am left with it, ball and chain
Accompanied by my laments and false griefs.
And yet the sun still breathes until nightfall
When I am haunted by the white thing that sleeps next to me.
He knows my terror. He was born from it.
He is the ghost that whispers inside my head.
He tightens the noose, tells me to jump.
He says the body does not sink
Because it is filled with air.
And he says to me, You will sink.
You will sink to the brink of despair where there is no air.
And they will always, always find you there.
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This 21 word review has not been unlocked.
It needs one more draft. I can’t tell you what to fix because the essence is already there. It may not be a question of length. Many writers think length is the devil, but not if you have something that takes this long to say. Some of the images and themes are 100% in focus, but on occasion the poem appears as if in shallow water, slightly distorted. Clarify “him”, the ghost. It’s fine to be obscure and even make others work at your meaning, but all the clues must be there in the end. I read it five times. You have gotten down to your core and your poem takes me that close to my own. Tnanks.
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This 32 word review has not been unlocked.
Wow, this is some very dark, dense stuff; I like it quite a bit.
The only critique I could give is that some of the modifiers might be better changed out for more unusual ones, and that a few of the metaphors are overused traditionally, but this is really a great to start to a yet-to-be-finished piece.
“The bombs of Hiroshima drop onto me.”
I wish I had written that line… really like it.
Please let me know when you finish this, as I’d be very interested in reading the final draft.
This 53 word review has not been unlocked.
“He is the ghost that whispers inside my head” this line is creepy in a good way.
I liked the intro, and although the first few stanzas did have a dismal outlook, there was one stanza that started the very depressing rest of the poem.
I did enjoy it though, it is almost tragic.
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