A Whisper

[Sàmmius McGennien]

|TITLE| Whispers
|RATING| G
|THEME| Suspense.
|STYLE| Freestyle.
|NOTES| It's basically a bunch of garbage that I decided not to recycle. Please, tell me how random and nonsensical it is. xDD

A whisper,
A coldness on the wind,
A loudness in your mind.
But from where?

It speaks to you.
It beckons you.
It begs for you.
But for what?

The words are timid.
The words are pleading.
The words are desperate.
But why?

You turn toward it.
You look for it.
You chase it.
But from where?

The world turns slowly now.
The world reflects all the wrongdoings of the world.
The world reflects thy desperation.
But for what?

And so it is cruel.
And so it is merciless.
And so it seems insane.
But why?

Desperately, you seek it more.
Desperately, it beckons you more.
Desperately, the world revolves slower still.
But from where?

Slowly, you recall your ifs.
Slowly, your regrets come back to you.
Slowly, all is flashed upon thy mind.
But for what?

Then it is found.
Then the clock chimes twelve, and it all comes to an end.
Then there is nothingness.
But why?

[Alicia's Ghost]

Honestly, for all that it did kinda seemed as if it were strung together haphazardly, it sounds much better -- and more fluent, if you took the questions out at the end of each stanza. Then it's just this ride that carries you through, though you have very little idea of what's going on -- but that's part of the potential in this poem: you read through hoping to find something, only to be denied. It's a reflection of what the narrator is speaking of -- like the inner voice of some God telling you exactly what's going to happen in your life, and when.

The questions kinda throw off that idea you have there.

[Sàmmius McGennien]

Hahah, yeah, I wasn't sure about those. The first "from where" just . . . inspired me? I dunno. I told you it was a bunch of garbage.

To be honest, I don't know where all this comes from. I just get these random . . . moments to write poetry, and most of my poetry ends up depressing or at least on the opposite scale than happy, so . . . yeah.

[shiina]

Well, I don't kow if it's my mood or what, but I really liked it -- questions and all. It reminded me of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. He has this urge, this whisper in his ear, that soul disire to create life. To play God. So he follows it. Chases it, And he acheives it. Then the world begins to seem to turn slowly, as he realizes what he had accomplished was wrong. When he realizes he created a monster. So he tries to kill the monster, and the monster flees, and Frankenstein seeks it, trekking across the globe to find his creation in hopes of destroying it, all the while reflecting and regretting the life he lived. And finally, he dies in the arctic; and the monster finds him in his frozen stature. Then the monster, who had lived only to run from his selfish creator, destroys himself. Then there is nothing. See the resemblance? And the questions do make sense if you think about it, or maybe I just think so because I'm so wierd. ^.^ either way, I really did enjoy this poem.