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glass that melts my face to split
upon the ride of river Styx
to my left there creeps a fog
creeps round the boat, then it talks:
"I came here from a dreadful place
to tell you all, to tell you all
that is not what I meant at all
I mean to say my mind's a shell
echoing past abusive hell"
where giants tread their pads to sling
feet that stomp the voice that sings
a baby sleeping in its crib
keep your children safe from id
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if anyone would like an explanation of this poem, PM me.
I'm in a very sharative mood.
Apparently I just made up a word and I'm sticking with it.
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max,
post-congratulatory on your new word "sharative".
__________________________________________
Nice nod to T. S. Elliot.
" betwixt" what and what?
I never much liked Styx, except on "the Paradise", I just never could stomach Dennis De Young.
I think I would change "slogs" for dog, since it has to rhyme, if not I would use...
I'm assuming you mean the river not the goddess.
Very lyrical in a non-music sort of way.
Actually I have no idea what it means (so you can ignore everything I said, except about T. S. Elliot), although it is bouncy.
dale
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
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maybe rips would be better. Thanks!
the nod to Eliot was essential, given that the setting of the poem is immediately after death, riding the river, and confronted by a ghost, some Prufrockian entity who reveals why they are in hell. The person riding the boat is an Italian glassblower master, who was killed by their apprentice via pouring molten glass over the poor bloke's head as he was drunkenly napping. The apprentice wanted the master's secrets, which were kept under lock and key. The reason why the Prufrockian entity is in hell is expressed (Prufrockian entity is unrelated in any way to the Italian riding the boat), but deducing that on your own is difficult. The convoluted nature of guilt and self torture is a strange thing. The key of the poem is the ghost, the man is just a vessel in this case, and says little, if anything.
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Shit sorry, fast fingers and auto correct do not mix.
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slogs feels forced.
and a-split feels very buttockotious
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yea that was shitty, thanks.
you're right about that. I know there has to be a better word to express what I mean there.
aaaaand it was simple.
here's a poem from tonight. Cried my fucking eyes out like Ben Stiller in Something About Mary...only she stayed with Brett Favre and didn't come chasing after me. Of course. Posting this here because the thread title is apt.
it seems like I can only attract women online, where they look at my profile and read my writing. I guess they fall in love with a part of me I express there that transcends my horrible looks so I'm at least fuck worthy. And this was at a Cubensis show. Fuck free love right in the pig's arse, ladies and gents. Think I'll just pay for sex.
can't remember what it was
but the numbers sink and thud
equations shift, forms and line
led by heat as chickens lie
conversation was my art
expressed to her my broken heart
and how the music seeks to heal
sucked me in till love was real
I felt that it had gone so well
conversed her up, my pride did swell
such as did another thing
blonde hair is the bell I ring
3 hours of her thoughts and plans
until appeared another man:
stood there with his classic looks
O the tremors, room has shook
he has such perfect fucking hair!
perfect body, perfect stare
glances me and sees me weak
looks at her, begins to speak
my diamond crown to the floor
I know her now forevermore
siren with her pale grey sack
other man she goes to snack
