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Post by xunpredictablel on Dec 25, 2009 18:38:11 GMT -5
|Title| Untitled.
|Rating|PG 13
|Theme| -
|Notes| Depressed.
Death lingers, as does my pen across this page.
Sitting by the fire- begging an ember to jump from the wood and fly to my skin.
Waiting for night so I can creep into my room and slice at myself.
Because I'm grasping for a semblance of something other than misery.
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Post by Alicia's Ghost on Jan 12, 2010 0:53:02 GMT -5
Caitlyn, this was beautiful. The very lack of length seemed to make this poem so much more than what it would have been had you tried to expand on the emotion; there was a true depth here, a sorrow so blatant and almost ... graceful. Ethereal, though it probably does not feel it to you.
This talks to the soul, an individual conjuration of images and provocation of emotion: to you, who knows what you saw when you wrote it, but to me, when my eyes lingered over the words, and the thoughts settled down, I felt as if I were transported. As if, I no longer sit in my room, but my soul projects itself outward into timelessness. It sounds ridiculous, probably, but I can hardly describe the way this touched me. I feel like I've dipped my hands into a pool of your sorrow and cupped the water in my palms, watching a reflection of my own pain flickering there.
That last line, "Because I'm grasping for a semblance of something other than misery." is made of pure silver: graceful with that poetic turn of the phrase that doesn't always make itself known in 'poems'. You have such a talent, Caitlyn, it really makes my heart glad, though the existence of this sorrow is something that should not be celebrated, but perhaps explored to find the root of it.
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