Poetry Forum

The voices come every week.
Bless thee. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
I’ve come to know this well,
like the high pitch of my heart,
droning and eager to fly.

I try sometimes, stretch;
paper-drag against my flesh
as hands baptize
in hollow fragrance.
They melt and my wings fold,
pious and freshly laundered
under icy light.

Everything is cold, I sing back.
Nothing lives in the cold.

i like the poem but there's a small but!

at first i got the impression of being one with the mass.
the it changed and i felt the opposite. it left me a little confused

Yes it is a confusing write, but I think that is how you intended it, yes? I like the poem.

Haha well, a lot of what I meant to say was lost in translation. It's true, contradiction is on purpose, but I was too focused in veiling my meaning that it became a lot more obscure than I intended it to be.

Guess a rewrite is in order. Thanks for the kind feedback guys

hmm, I think heaven and Holiness can be icy at times. Good luck with your re-write.

thanks bianca

I found it hard to ascertain the literal meaning of this poem at times, but I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, as it still conveyed what it wanted to, I feel, and did so with ease and panache. I was reminded, as I read this, of how I felt at primary school during Friday assemblies, when we'd all stand up and sing "Streets of London," reading the words off a projection at the front of the hall, and because all the other kids were taller than me, I'd find myself having to jump and screech so I could see the lyrics and make my voice heard.
The ending was brilliant. Cold and sharp as a wet butcher's knife. And I also loved this line:

"as hands baptize
in hollow fragrance."

Thanks for the kind words and the feedback Smile. Yeah, it did come off as more of a mood piece rather than having a narrative but I'm happy it still worked for you