01-11-2016, 02:25 PM
[I can only gain so much reading responses to other people's poetry, so it has some merit to let you critique my own work. I've done much editing to this, and there are portions I am not satisfied with, so it will likely be edited many more times. The statements are not as solid as I would like, but that could only come in the final wave of edits.]
--Edit #2--
There are rats in cages and mazes that are happier than I am.
They do not kick walls or see constellations.
They do not think of life and death
Or balance them on dark and light fulcrums.
I watch them, fur and flesh over bone and brain.
I give them levers to pull, to see if they decide.
The levers move in silence.
Their futile bodies know the question;
Their noble beings have no answer.
Their lives are only chemical computers,
Chaotic twitches of mortal muscle,
Seeking validation for every bite.
They shake in self-awareness at the power of their hands.
In reflection they see their fur
Placed over skin that is not their own
Just before the glass breaks.
--Edit #1--
There are rats in cages and mazes that are happier than I am.
They do not count walls and stars.
They do not think of life and death or dark and light colors.
I watch them, fur and flesh over bone and brain.
I give them levers to pull, to see if they decide.
The levers move in silence.
It is a chemical, and a muscle.
It is computable, and yet chaotic.
Though in vain, I believe it is noble.
They shake in self-awareness at the product of their hands.
In reflection they see their fur
Placed over skin that is not their own
Just before the glass breaks.
--Original--
There are rats in cages and mazes that are happier than I am.
They do not count walls and stars and debts.
They do not think of life and death or dark and light.
They do not balance scales or walk with symmetry.
They are not scientists or philosophers.
I can observe these rats, and define them.
I give them levers to pull on, to see if they decide.
I am their judge, and their sentence is death.
Still they pull on my levers but never question why.
It is a chemical, and a muscle.
It is computable, and yet chaotic.
And though in vain, I believe it is noble.
It is violent and brings them pleasure
As they welcome peace and ponder war.
They shake in self-awareness at the product of their hands.
In reflection, they see their fur
Placed over skin that is not their own
Just before the glass breaks.
--Edit #2--
There are rats in cages and mazes that are happier than I am.
They do not kick walls or see constellations.
They do not think of life and death
Or balance them on dark and light fulcrums.
I watch them, fur and flesh over bone and brain.
I give them levers to pull, to see if they decide.
The levers move in silence.
Their futile bodies know the question;
Their noble beings have no answer.
Their lives are only chemical computers,
Chaotic twitches of mortal muscle,
Seeking validation for every bite.
They shake in self-awareness at the power of their hands.
In reflection they see their fur
Placed over skin that is not their own
Just before the glass breaks.
--Edit #1--
There are rats in cages and mazes that are happier than I am.
They do not count walls and stars.
They do not think of life and death or dark and light colors.
I watch them, fur and flesh over bone and brain.
I give them levers to pull, to see if they decide.
The levers move in silence.
It is a chemical, and a muscle.
It is computable, and yet chaotic.
Though in vain, I believe it is noble.
They shake in self-awareness at the product of their hands.
In reflection they see their fur
Placed over skin that is not their own
Just before the glass breaks.
--Original--
There are rats in cages and mazes that are happier than I am.
They do not count walls and stars and debts.
They do not think of life and death or dark and light.
They do not balance scales or walk with symmetry.
They are not scientists or philosophers.
I can observe these rats, and define them.
I give them levers to pull on, to see if they decide.
I am their judge, and their sentence is death.
Still they pull on my levers but never question why.
It is a chemical, and a muscle.
It is computable, and yet chaotic.
And though in vain, I believe it is noble.
It is violent and brings them pleasure
As they welcome peace and ponder war.
They shake in self-awareness at the product of their hands.
In reflection, they see their fur
Placed over skin that is not their own
Just before the glass breaks.
If you're the smartest person in the room, you're in the wrong room.
"Or, if a poet writes a poem, then immediately commits suicide (as any decent poet should)..." -- Erthona
"Or, if a poet writes a poem, then immediately commits suicide (as any decent poet should)..." -- Erthona