Note: I wrote this with performance in mind, but I want to see how it stands up alone. So keep that in mind if something doesn't make sense.
Also, sorry for the length. Obviously you don't have to go over all of it, but this was just something I was passionate about.
Are we alone in this world?
Maybe...
Lonely isn't proclaimed a room created with brick and mortar,
but brink and mourning.
It’s not a room that you built rather signed;
A familiarity contract.
With patented cursive letters,
Written with red ink and watermarked;
With your tears.
They sold to you these ridiculed bars as,
Independent cul-de-sac fantasy;
There lies within these contractual lines,
Unwritten history.
Your soul peer’s through the skin and bones to find it,
Distinct from owning desperate,
Hollow eyes.
The fine print lies; up ahead...
The room you have now is painted white.
The key to escape is camouflaged in eggshell shades.
But focus for only two seconds it holds something,
There is a note.
It reads this.
This key hides somewhere before your death;
As well as the top right corner of the room.
Where Anxiety and depression converse as equals;
The room’s corners hold no differences; only axis coordinates and jest.
But voices you have created still dwell; Somewhere in that ominous distance;
Getting rid of the voices get rid of the pain...
Is lonely a number?
Maybe...
But the room morphs, it’s grown into;
What I thought life was,
Through the window of normal;
As I pinned the tail,
On clickbait thumbnails;
Toxins and waste they described as,
Fresher air;
They will soon begin to sell it to you;
But hell,
That could never happen.
I saw the Lorax in theaters silly.
The number grows all I see is either,
With no depth perceived;
Or maybe,
Kaleidoscopes scattered with color's unexplained.
Even if this room changes it's shading,
Throughout time and space, still yet;
It would grow so sincerely empty,
With no room to call home.
With no knickknacks to call sentiment.
With no sin to call kin.
No sake, just life and death...
Can sanity be measured, maybe?
Though if I think it’s easy being green,
I will surely become queasily sighted;
Translucent mirrors have created my ego.
The more color I gave,
The more it was labeled as misbehavior,
Until I believed my essence to be black and white;
Grey rain always poured on new year’s yesterday.
The murals I created were my only escape,
Until I was fed up with modern art;
I like the color purple, god damn it!
They didn’t like the color purple.
I failed to copy others doodling;
I missed too many spots and colored my own lines.
They started questioning if my purple was a sane shade;
Hatred through purple was evident in some others,
But empathy was never drawn on by the likes of them;
Inside they had thickly clotted blood red of intentions dwelling, but I ask now,
Who’s grey now, bigoted connoisseur! I know your weakness!
You have drove me crazy, but I’ll drive you down a dim lighted path,
At least I have stimulation to keep me company!
Oh for goodness sake;
What does the note read?
...
I’m sorry.
That my friend,
Is a question that I don’t hold any solid answer too.
Why can you not find one?
I can only take the words you give me!
You read in tongues and cliche;
In sensation.
Words never forming from the origin.
But fear not.
You may perform the actions correctly;
However indifferent.
How is all this so!
I can't win this war at any rate!
It is tempting to throw away the question,
And draw treaty to blissful ignorance.
Or start wars with answers and claim that,
The war was won through one respectable battle.
So remember this.
Independence day was fought tirelessly,
Through numbers of sane,
lonely soldiers.
How do I march into battle?
If I were to take a shot in the awkwardly lit hallway,
The words that split the page in bold print would be,
Medication:
And perspective…
This room that contains me
Has no walls
Posts: 574
Threads: 80
Joined: May 2013
First of all, who the hell signs up for intensive critique. That's like freakin cross fit. Now you've got glue-sniffers delight. So, enjoy the crushed hoofs.
(03-03-2017, 11:48 AM)theDesigner Wrote: Note: I wrote this with performance in mind, but I want to see how it stands up alone. So keep that in mind if something doesn't make sense.
Also, sorry for the length. Obviously you don't have to go over all of it, but this was just something I was passionate about.
Are we alone in this world? -- No, but everybody likes their own thing, and people are always butting heads. I want to watch this, I want to watch that. Take a goddamn nap.
Maybe...
Lonely isn't proclaimed a room created with brick and mortar, --Style must be concise. You could be a profound philosopher worthy of a thousand beard strokes before you're buried and people move on, but you need good style to make people think you're smart. The actor in this sentence isn't the idea of lonely, so you're bound to have excessive words. What's the subject and reduce the word count. My grammar philosophy may be hack, but this is sloppy with too many words.
but brink and mourning. -- No subject after but. Maybe it's implied. Who the hell knows the rule on that one?
It’s not a room that you built rather signed; -- Colon instead of semicolon? The semicolon might go before rather. ;rather, it is signed. (This assumes people covet your signature.)
A familiarity contract.
With patented cursive letters,
Written with red ink and watermarked;
With your tears. --
They sold to you these ridiculed bars as,
Independent cul-de-sac fantasy; -- Cul-de-sac = not so bad maybe. Unless you have kids I guess.
There lies within these contractual lines,
Unwritten history. -- Contract = verbal or written. Usually written sloppily in some weird template! Just paste it damnit until we get the software to paste it faster. Who the hell cares about the freaking accounts.
Your soul peer’s through the skin and bones to find it, --- Peer's. Why contraction?
Distinct from owning desperate,
Hollow eyes.
The fine print lies; up ahead... --- I'm getting a Faustian thing here; however, Faust signed in blood!
The room you have now is painted white.
The key to escape is camouflaged in eggshell shades.
But focus for only two seconds it holds something, --- Two sentences
There is a note.
It reads this.
This key hides somewhere before your death;
As well as the top right corner of the room.
Where Anxiety and depression converse as equals; - Anxiety shouldn't be capitalized.
The room’s corners hold no differences; only axis coordinates and jest. --
But voices you have created still dwell; Somewhere in that ominous distance;
Getting rid of the voices get rid of the pain...
Is lonely a number?
Maybe...
But the room morphs, it’s grown into;
What I thought life was,
Through the window of normal;
As I pinned the tail,
On clickbait thumbnails;
Toxins and waste they described as,
Fresher air;
They will soon begin to sell it to you;
But hell,
That could never happen.
I saw the Lorax in theaters silly. -- Lol. Danny Devito cash grab.
The number grows all I see is either,
With no depth perceived;
Or maybe,
Kaleidoscopes scattered with color's unexplained. -- Everybody has been down kaleidoscope lane. Usually, it means that too much crap is inundating your thought process, and it seems like the weirdest, most discombobulated thing you can think of: kaleidoscopes.
Even if this room changes it's shading,
Throughout time and space, still yet;
It would grow so sincerely empty,
With no room to call home.
With no knickknacks to call sentiment.
With no sin to call kin. -- How are sin kin? They're not even human!
No sake, just life and death...
Can sanity be measured, maybe? -Yes. Where are you? Do you know what day it is?
Though if I think it’s easy being green,
I will surely become queasily sighted; --
The more color I gave,
The more it was labeled as misbehavior,
Until I believed my essence to be black and white;
Grey rain always poured on new year’s yesterday.
The murals I created were my only escape,
Until I was fed up with modern art;
I like the color purple, god damn it!
They didn’t like the color purple.
I failed to copy others doodling;
I missed too many spots and colored my own lines.
They started questioning if my purple was a sane shade;
Hatred through purple was evident in some others,
But empathy was never drawn on by the likes of them;
Inside they had thickly clotted blood red of intentions dwelling, but I ask now,
Who’s grey now, bigoted connoisseur! I know your weakness!
You have drove me crazy, but I’ll drive you down a dim lighted path,
At least I have stimulation to keep me company!
Oh for goodness sake;
What does the note read?
...
I’m sorry.
That my friend,
Is a question that I don’t hold any solid answer too.
Why can you not find one?
I can only take the words you give me!
You read in tongues and cliche;
In sensation.
Words never forming from the origin.
But fear not.
You may perform the actions correctly;
However indifferent.
How is all this so!
I can't win this war at any rate!
It is tempting to throw away the question,
And draw treaty to blissful ignorance.
Or start wars with answers and claim that,
The war was won through one respectable battle.
So remember this.
Independence day was fought tirelessly,
Through numbers of sane,
lonely soldiers.
How do I march into battle?
If I were to take a shot in the awkwardly lit hallway,
The words that split the page in bold print would be,
Medication:
And perspective…
This room that contains me
Has no walls
Alright. It's Saturday night. This review is suspect. My advice, be on topic, and avoid streaming random thoughts. You're obviously smart and don't have a disability. Just try being concise and on point.
Posts: 345
Threads: 34
Joined: Feb 2017
Hi, theDesigner
Wow, what a poem, I will give it my best. Very mysterious as I try to follow it like Lego instructions. Lots of scattered pieces, well, sort of, that all have a purpose to make the piece complete. Yes, it was quite lengthy, but maybe we are attempting to piece together something spectacular, with spinning parts that are fun. Okay, here goes:
Are we alone in this world? I asked that very same question and at the most trying of times, YES.
Maybe...
Lonely isn't proclaimed a room created with brick and mortar, I would rework this, but keep brick & mortar/ brink & mourning
but brink and mourning.
It’s not a room that you built rather signed;
A familiarity contract.
With patented cursive letters, Patented is interesting.
Written with red ink and watermarked; You can leave "with your tears" out of it, watermarked was plenty.
With your tears.
They sold to you these ridiculed bars as, that is interesting "ridiculed bars", maybe "ridiculous bars" is better
Independent cul-de-sac fantasy; I see a neighbor putting a handsaw in a pie, don't know why
There lies within these contractual lines,
Unwritten history. reminds me of the dead sea scrolls
Your soul peer’s through the skin and bones to find it, confused by the ['s], though the pieces are snapping together
Distinct from owning desperate,
Hollow eyes. Maybe it should be hallow eyes
The fine print lies; up ahead... indicates an incomplete story, I am lost here, too
The room you have now is painted white. I understood this part, actually
The key to escape is camouflaged in eggshell shades. seems to be fumbling here
But focus for only two seconds it holds something, something overlooked, but innovative & genius
There is a note. Comma
It reads this. There should be a colon here.
This key hides somewhere before your death;
As well as the top right corner of the room.
Where Anxiety and depression converse as equals;
The room’s corners hold no differences; only axis coordinates and jest. thank goodness
But voices you have created still dwell; Somewhere in that ominous distance;
Getting rid of the voices get rid of the pain... I'm not sure if I am catching it all.
Is lonely a number?
Maybe...
But the room morphs, it’s grown into;
What I thought life was,
Through the window of normal;
As I pinned the tail,
On clickbait thumbnails; reminds me of someone poking into someone else's business,
Toxins and waste they described as, but I could be wrong.
Fresher air;
They will soon begin to sell it to you;
But hell,
That could never happen.
I saw the Lorax in theaters silly. I've not seen this movie, The Lorax, so it throws the reader off.
The number grows all I see is either, I'm lost here.
With no depth perceived;
Or maybe,
Kaleidoscopes scattered with color's unexplained. [this portion between the brackets is very workable
Even if this room changes it's shading,
Throughout time and space, still yet;
It would grow so sincerely empty,
With no room to call home.
With no knickknacks to call sentiment.
With no sin to call kin.
No sake, just life and death... ]
Can sanity be measured, maybe?
Though if I think it’s easy being green,
I will surely become queasily sighted;
Translucent mirrors have created my ego.
The more color I gave,
The more it was labeled as misbehavior, Seems a poem of clues collides with a rant
Until I believed my essence to be black and white;
Grey rain always poured on new year’s yesterday.
The murals I created were my only escape,
Until I was fed up with modern art;
I like the color purple, god damn it!
They didn’t like the color purple.
I failed to copy others doodling;
I missed too many spots and colored my own lines.
They started questioning if my purple was a sane shade;
Hatred through purple was evident in some others,
But empathy was never drawn on by the likes of them;
Inside they had thickly clotted blood red of intentions dwelling, but I ask now,
Who’s grey now, bigoted connoisseur! I know your weakness!
You have drove me crazy, but I’ll drive you down a dim lighted path,
At least I have stimulation to keep me company!
Oh for goodness sake; I like how judgement squeaks by here
What does the note read?
...
I’m sorry.
That my friend,
Is a question that I don’t hold any solid answer too. to
Why can you not find one?
I can only take the words you give me!
You read in tongues and cliche;
In sensation.
Words never forming from the origin.
But fear not.
You may perform the actions correctly;
However indifferent.
How is all this so!
I can't win this war at any rate!
It is tempting to throw away the question, These two lines are wonderful.
And draw treaty to blissful ignorance.
Or start wars with answers and claim that,
The war was won through one respectable battle.
So remember this.
Independence day was fought tirelessly,
Through numbers of sane,
lonely soldiers.
How do I march into battle?
If I were to take a shot in the awkwardly lit hallway,
The words that split the page in bold print would be,
Medication:
And perspective…
This room that contains me
Has no walls passionate, like a poet, but tormented, too
theDesigner
I really liked portions in stanza 6 and could see it
sharpened up and working as a poem on its own:
Maybe with no depth perceived,
Kaleidoscopes scattered with colors unexplained.
Even if this room changes its shading,
Throughout time and space, still yet;
It would grow so sincerely empty,
With no room to call home.
With no knickknacks to call sentiment.
With no sin to call kin.
Forsaken, just life and death..
There was a lot of scribble of emotion
and it seems the fragmented narrator was offering
first a riddle poem that seemed to hint at help,
then a poem describing the condition of another,
then finally a rant of personal torment.
It did bring a little peace to me, though.
I thought briefly about a lull-a-bye,
a message in a bottle,
and Harper Lee's great book.
I apologized for my marginal errors, I thought I had
everything lined up, then Kapootz, a room with no walls!
Best wishes to you, theDesigner, I hope you are well.
Thank you for the interesting, yet, semi-baffling read!
there's always a better reason to love
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