09-04-2013, 11:06 PM
Hello it's Evan here, if anybody is willing to critique my most recent poem, I'd happily appreciate it and apply it, I'm not satisfied with this and it's frustrating me to no end.. (And don't mind any potential cliche, I'll stamp that out as well.)
Mourning in the Moonlight
Within the cool night air,
biting into the wind.
Shuddering,
droplets gathering strength
as they're falling from the sky,
driven into the weathered concrete
and pelting into my back
when I'm in its way.
I'm becoming drenched,
the water dashing
tracing the seams of my clothing.
And dripping to the brick,
being taken in ignorant compliance
to the sewers, and to the seas.
These pieces of a storm,
forcing my head down
in an attempt to pierce my will,
inhaling, to calm myself
exhaling, visible breath.
It's an icy, bitter chill
clasping my nerves
and becoming entrenched in my skin.
I am drifting through the cold,
wind gusts carry my jacket neck
pressing it into my skin.
And whispering into my left ear
slipping through,
the wind brushing to the side.
I see the moonlight
dancing with the shadows
and the castings of artificial light.
Gleaming a sickly pale blue
only to be cleansed by the rain,
and cured through the moonlight.
Mourning in the Moonlight
Within the cool night air,
biting into the wind.
Shuddering,
droplets gathering strength
as they're falling from the sky,
driven into the weathered concrete
and pelting into my back
when I'm in its way.
I'm becoming drenched,
the water dashing
tracing the seams of my clothing.
And dripping to the brick,
being taken in ignorant compliance
to the sewers, and to the seas.
These pieces of a storm,
forcing my head down
in an attempt to pierce my will,
inhaling, to calm myself
exhaling, visible breath.
It's an icy, bitter chill
clasping my nerves
and becoming entrenched in my skin.
I am drifting through the cold,
wind gusts carry my jacket neck
pressing it into my skin.
And whispering into my left ear
slipping through,
the wind brushing to the side.
I see the moonlight
dancing with the shadows
and the castings of artificial light.
Gleaming a sickly pale blue
only to be cleansed by the rain,
and cured through the moonlight.