Struggling, I Swim.

[billy]

hi euan, not read the poem yet but did catch the first line An Ocean of grief one of the worst things a poet can do besides flashing as a copper, is start a poem with a chunky cliche, so i would suggest looking for and changing all the cliche for stuff that's original. ; it also verges on yoda-speak. a valley of death, i walk... , i know the i like is only part of a phrase so you can remedy it by moving 'i peak down to the next line.

i do like the poem but me liking it doesn't make it a good poem, i like the voracity of the thing. the dashing against cliff violence but i'm more making it up in my head than i am getting it from the words. you tell a little but not enough.

An Ocean of grief, I swim. a suggestion
An Ocean of grief, show us the grief
I swim her coldness
Her coldness still here
my wish; wash me clean,
my conscience, too.
Sorrow illuminated,
by the dwindling evening sun.

I've never wanted to hide
her destructive power
doesn't phase me.
To lose me, is to lose her strength.
Grief, is the anguish that sways
the rippling waters to my touch.

Breathing heavily,
wading through her
for a moment of clarity
I thought I'd escape
for a little while.
Drink
and sing
to drown him out.

Not here,
no.
Here, it is worse.
The screams are louder.
They're the restlessness
her stillness conceals.

Remembering her jagged edge,
rigid
and cruel.
Gripping my shoulders,
and pulling me under
forcing me into the cliff face
tearing my body to bloody ribbons.
pulled free to air
and ripped into the cold again.

Her,
were she to kiss me again,
to have another taste
without doubt, she'd bleed me dry