What Of

[tectak]

On this rock hard earth in the hell of winter
In this rice white scenery with a flourishing blizzard
In this light
In her sightYou take a huge risk with an opener that goes nowhere, particularly if the information is directional. I now want to know WHERE, but I have a feeling I am not going to find out. You just glanced off a cliche with the opportunistic, if not serendipitous, use of "rice" instead of "ice"...but I am not fooled. You compound the struggle for wordiness with the "flourishing" blizzard. It is not good in that it takes away from the intent. The last two lines are hanging.

What of love when it harbors mistakes
What of this feeling when it defines ones fateOne's fate...basic errors should be corrected BEFORE posting. Forum rules.For a while there I thought that punctuation might help.Why no question marks? Then I read what you had written, a useful device, and realised that punctuation would make little difference. Cessation of the capitalisation of each line might though. It is very retro and only adds to the possibilty that you may be a pretender to the poetic throne...it just does not make poets poetic.
I know of love as I know of my past
I know that with each moment another has passedThis wins first prize in the "stating the bleedin' obvious" competition but the next line is close run thing. Did you really say if it had been longer it would have lasted longer? No to this ridiculous observation. It needs a clarity check. As this is "Serious Workshopping" I must assume that you will be up for it. I cannot help as I have no idea what point you are making.
Perhaps if autumn had been longer these moments could have lasted

What of love when life is short
What of a home if one locks the door
I know of love just as I know of this house
I know each corridor better than I know my spouseBoy, that WILL make her happy!
Perhaps this is why I find myself locked outThat is why....Yep, but with your in-depth knowledge of the place you'll find a way back in.

The way she loves actually fixes peopleActually...it doesn't. Whatever "actually" means...and don't say "Love...actually" or I will squeem and squeem and squeem.
With the way she loves one has no urge to speak of evil, One doesn't, doesn't one?
no patience to hear of evil,
no focus to see of evilDescent in to gobbledygook. See OF evil?????

The way I love actually frees peopleActually...oh, forget it. It does or it doesn't. Actually is a non-word used exclusively by non-thinkers.
With the way I love one has no regrets to plead before death
No needs, no wants
Satisfied, satiated, and certain
My love slowly but surely draws the curtaincliche on cliche
I give a standing ovation each time as my love fades behind enemy linesAgain, there is no expertise in this collection of words, no sense of sure-footedness; metaphorical leaps from drawn curtains to enemy lines is only ever so tenuously connected to the theatre of war that I doubt even you saw the connection. Drop this stanza.Oh, and I have changed my mind. PUNCTUATE to clarity

With applause still high I now wonder,
If I loved her and she loved me,
Why couldn't her love fix my love's fragility
What of love if it couldn't spare her from a beautiful tragedy

On this ice soaked pavement during the birth of spring
In this biracial season where browns form greens
In this night
At her site
I revel in our love.No. Really, no. This poem ended several lines ago. It is cruelly drawn out until its tendons snap and its very skeleton undergoes multiple dislocations. Overall, the language smacks of post adolescent angst and for that you could be lauded....but I do not think that there is enough good english usage to lift it above itself. A rewrite would help but not until after you have simply read the thing out loud...you may be writing for you but I am reading for me...and I can get nothing from it except a tatty mesh of near and full on cliches which just burble through your thinking. You may feel that this is harsh but the forum you post in requires certain attentions to detail. The concept is lost in a havering blether of disconnected gestalts without cause or conclusion. Too many questions and too few answers.
Best,
tectak

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