Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur

[tectak]

V:2 (First Edit, Billy and Addy)

It creeps and trickles down the walls of my mindThe "it" is insular and not related.....in this fashion "it" remains throughout. After a full read (enjoyable) "it" is still unknown. That "it" trickles only adds to the enigma"
Through the crevasses of yesterday
Where it lingers like the sickly sweet stench
Of rose gardens rotting after torrential rain There is some very worthy imagery here but you you walk very close to cliche cliff!!!
It’s here I find you
It’s here you find me
Sapphires for eyes behind pagan ritual masks
That send us reeling into the past. The last four lines are PURE imagery and in that sense, and that sense only, are excellent. There is a BUT, though. The trickling "it" has now become a place! The imagery has taken over from the inspiration. can you get the piece back on track? We shall see, but "it" will take some explaining

You’re reaching out while I’m letting go Oh oh....is this the same poem or have you started another? I cannot get ANY connection between the first stanza and this, the next. That is a statement.
I no longer melt under your melancholy gaze
That used to have me crumpling
Like a string-less puppet I know you are trying to avoid the obvious' and noted, cliche here, but this is very difficult once committed....I know you are loathe to take editorial swings at a piece, but even substituting "mannequin" or "marionet" for "puppet" would help to remove the "puppet on a string", in-your-face cliche.
Though I never needed the bindings
When I would crawl to you through
Blackberry thickets and fields of poison ivy
Just to hear your voice
Like a field of belladonna in my brain
Sweet and consuming, overwhelming my senses.Last five lines are just beautiful. The best I have seen of your work (and I have looked ). Just one point which I have mentioned before...this change of "sense" between "Though" and "When". There is no conditional relationship between the two lines SO you should consider dropping the "when", so that you get.... " Though I never needed the bindings, I crawled to you .....your voice was analgesic, like a field of belladonna in my brain..." or some such. The conditionality of "though" is now established. THOUGH it hurt, your voice took away the pain.

Ghosts for memories brush my skin
Leaving it chilled and shivering
My heart constricting in fear
And I can feel you near, always here
Like an unwanted sprite
That never had my best interests at heart. cliche in here
When the beauty of your face Here we go again. I think this is something you need to look at seriously. Drop the "when". It is unrelated CONDITIONALLY to the previous line(s). It is also unnecessary and reads badly. Just begin the line with "The beauty of your face...." and off you go
And the heady perfume of your voice cliche in here
Never could hide the devilish mischief
Barely concealed in the depths of your eyes.cliche in here

A scar sits on my heart
Ugly and brash, born of impulse and thistlesExcellent....how come you EVER need cliches?
Where I’ve tried to erase the ink the next 8 lines are again rich in imagery but it is all burgeoning. You must punctuate SOMETIMES. As it is, the whole thing is sticky toffee pudding. Tastes great but too much makes one nauseous.
That bled there in my sleep
Tattooing your name upon my soul
That no bleach nor blade can bleed away
While no amount of forgetting will ever procure and again. "While" (or whilst) is a conditional term. ("Whilst" this is true, one should remember that.) You have not completed the conditionality quickly enough. The "when innocence reigned" line is just too far away. You can easily correct this by just putting a comma after ".....the way things used to be"
A fondness for the way things used to be comma. This helps to imply the insertion of "at least.....when innocence reigned"
When innocence reigned, naivety
Held no shame, and hope was beautiful.

And still the realm of yesterdays
Drips into my brain like medieval water torturecliche
As memories and dreams light up the skycliche
Creating faux constellations unworthy and pompous
That I could have fallen in love with
In another time and place cliche
Before adulthood beckoned
And I began to grow into myself
Much to the horror of us cliche
While leagues of mentally laced barb-wired fencing
Cannot keep me from floundering in the scent
Of the days that got lost, before our garden of roses
Slipped into the mire of rot.

And now
No amount of love can save us from ourselves. an inconclusive conclusion for so much angst...but see below

.There is a good deal to be proud of in this piece....but I am now looking out for indieisms. That is my failing. Furthermore, if I try to look holistically at this piece I DO see two poems. I will be wrong, and I can hear your howls of protest ( cliches work in crits!!!). Nonetheless, this is the best pair of poems I have read from you and I can see into your head. That is a good thing. I hope thatyou willrun out of cliches after a short while and believe we can all look forward to some great word-play from you in the future,
Best,
tectak[/i]

V:1
It creeps and trickles down the walls of my mind
Through the crevasses of yesterday
Where it lingers like the sickly sweet stench
Of rose gardens rotting after torrential rain
It’s here I find you
It’s here you find me
Sapphires for eyes behind nautical masks
That send us reeling into the past.

You’re reaching out while I’m letting go
No longer the fire to my ice
I don’t melt under your melancholy gaze
That used to have me crumpling
Like a puppet without strings
Though I never needed the bindings
When I would crawl to you through
Blackberry thickets and fields of poison ivy
Just to hear your voice
Like molasses in my brain
Sweet and consuming, overwhelming my senses.

Ghosts for memories that brush my skin
Leave it chilled and shivering
My heart constricting in fear
And I can feel you near, always here
Like an unwanted guardian angel
That never had my best interests at heart.
When the beauty of your face
And the heady perfume of your voice
Never could hide the devilish mischief
Barely concealed in the depths of your eyes.

There is a scar on my heart
Ugly and brash, born of impulse and thistles
Where I’ve tried to erase the ink
That bled there in my sleep
Tattooing your name upon my soul
That no bleach nor blade can bleed away
While no amount of forgetting will ever procure
A fondness for the way things used to be
When innocence reigned, naivety
Held no shame, and hope was beautiful.

And still the realm of yesterdays
Drips into my brain like medieval water torture
As memories and dreams light up the sky
Creating faux constellations
That I could have fallen in love with
In another time and place
Before adulthood beckoned
And I began to grow into myself
Much to the horror of us
While leagues of mentally laced barb-wired fencing
Cannot keep me from floundering in the scent
Of the days that got lost, before our garden of roses
Slipped into the mire of rot.

And now
No amount of love can save us from ourselves.