11-08-2025, 08:51 AM
Hello!
I've not written poetry in a very long time and have not studied it in a professional capacity, my background is in character roleplay in which I have over a decade's worth of experience. I understand already this poem does not have a clear consistent meter length nor bias (already I am rewriting it with a consistent scheme) - and that archaisms being overdone notwithstanding, this is intended as a pastiche. That said, I'm sick of friends just saying "wow this is great" and would appreciate some feedback that will actually help me improve.
Thanks.
— — — — —
To You who hold the Key
This night dreams speak — so tender and maudlin
Speak of time where shrewd eyes ne'er held me,
Alone in this reverie and quiet births memory
As beast bound in venery — yearning to be free,
To a cold, breathing door I peer — clawing to be free;
How sweet it might be, for you who hold the key.
Days of yore hark, deceived in the mirror,
Hesitating no longer, I set from the quay,
From lone perch on eyrie, my eyes espy a faery,
Who chimes sinless arie — O let me see,
Fettered and mad — O let me thus see,
How still it might be, with you who hold the key.
Then this forgiving voice — so twisting my wonder,
By its delusory hollowness I could foresee,
Burning blood twists, heartbeat then rifts,
My voice shreds, resists — O how could it be?
Void of compassion, just what must I be?
How dread I might be, sans you who hold the key.
Sunk in this labyrinth, heaven grows livid,
Quagmire closes, can not pull free,
Chorus hushes, my voice fills with ashes,
Ere it all passes — dismissing my plea,
Fetal, twisted — smothering plea;
How blest I might be, through you who hold the key.
Peering just past the mirror the daybreak soon dawns,
Challenging shadows of moonlight o'er all I can see,
The horizon holds naught, neither person nor thought,
That this soul woe-fouled wrought, who else could it be?
No verity less lorn nor reverie truer, it could only well be—
Only you, you who have ever held the key.
I've not written poetry in a very long time and have not studied it in a professional capacity, my background is in character roleplay in which I have over a decade's worth of experience. I understand already this poem does not have a clear consistent meter length nor bias (already I am rewriting it with a consistent scheme) - and that archaisms being overdone notwithstanding, this is intended as a pastiche. That said, I'm sick of friends just saying "wow this is great" and would appreciate some feedback that will actually help me improve.
Thanks.
— — — — —
To You who hold the Key
This night dreams speak — so tender and maudlin
Speak of time where shrewd eyes ne'er held me,
Alone in this reverie and quiet births memory
As beast bound in venery — yearning to be free,
To a cold, breathing door I peer — clawing to be free;
How sweet it might be, for you who hold the key.
Days of yore hark, deceived in the mirror,
Hesitating no longer, I set from the quay,
From lone perch on eyrie, my eyes espy a faery,
Who chimes sinless arie — O let me see,
Fettered and mad — O let me thus see,
How still it might be, with you who hold the key.
Then this forgiving voice — so twisting my wonder,
By its delusory hollowness I could foresee,
Burning blood twists, heartbeat then rifts,
My voice shreds, resists — O how could it be?
Void of compassion, just what must I be?
How dread I might be, sans you who hold the key.
Sunk in this labyrinth, heaven grows livid,
Quagmire closes, can not pull free,
Chorus hushes, my voice fills with ashes,
Ere it all passes — dismissing my plea,
Fetal, twisted — smothering plea;
How blest I might be, through you who hold the key.
Peering just past the mirror the daybreak soon dawns,
Challenging shadows of moonlight o'er all I can see,
The horizon holds naught, neither person nor thought,
That this soul woe-fouled wrought, who else could it be?
No verity less lorn nor reverie truer, it could only well be—
Only you, you who have ever held the key.
