06-05-2015, 04:46 AM
I am a first time poet after reading poetry for my 17 years of life. However, a teacher recommended I submit this for a scholarship. Feel free to tear it apart (just try not to make me cry).
When one’s being is controlled
Crisp and collected, as the pages of a book
Scraping through
Word by word
With fingers so deftly
Or desperately
Pushing them through
When the sun rises in calculated motion
Dawn after dawn, meeting its delicate horizon
Perfectly in cue with the clock on the wall
There is a sense of Stability that is understood
Devoured with the utmost passion
For nothing is more celebrated than Stability
But what is seen and heard is not always the forefront of truth
Not always what it seems to be
For the heart is incessantly watched by the softest eyes and heard with the most delicate ears
Known by the faintest of minds
But never understood
And this man has a being
That is forever seen, eternally known
His being, his meaning
Is crisp, collected
Stable
So it seems
Yet his slumber scrapes through like a book
Tainted with stains
Beaten mercilessly as the pages are ripped
Word by word
By filthy fingers with dirty bruises
Deftly
Fingers that grasp for Stability
Desperately
And his screams are unheard
Word by word
The clock never stops its jesting with each click
For it is Stable
So it seems
But this is merely slumber
So when the sun meets its horizon
And the tormenting clock
Is now singing its praise
It is reminder that the day must begin
Dirty pages must turn
He will wake
He will smile
He is Stable
So it seems
When one’s being is controlled
Crisp and collected, as the pages of a book
Scraping through
Word by word
With fingers so deftly
Or desperately
Pushing them through
When the sun rises in calculated motion
Dawn after dawn, meeting its delicate horizon
Perfectly in cue with the clock on the wall
There is a sense of Stability that is understood
Devoured with the utmost passion
For nothing is more celebrated than Stability
But what is seen and heard is not always the forefront of truth
Not always what it seems to be
For the heart is incessantly watched by the softest eyes and heard with the most delicate ears
Known by the faintest of minds
But never understood
And this man has a being
That is forever seen, eternally known
His being, his meaning
Is crisp, collected
Stable
So it seems
Yet his slumber scrapes through like a book
Tainted with stains
Beaten mercilessly as the pages are ripped
Word by word
By filthy fingers with dirty bruises
Deftly
Fingers that grasp for Stability
Desperately
And his screams are unheard
Word by word
The clock never stops its jesting with each click
For it is Stable
So it seems
But this is merely slumber
So when the sun meets its horizon
And the tormenting clock
Is now singing its praise
It is reminder that the day must begin
Dirty pages must turn
He will wake
He will smile
He is Stable
So it seems