I See A Death In Others

[Cthonian]

Faces I have known
for most of my life,
are seen now, wrinkled
and torn with tired smiles.

These faces I once knew,
three years fresh,
I watch decay slightly,
and in other parts, grow
bloated, tortuous, enlarged.
Eyes that once shone,
now flicker,
scraped and blinked
for perhaps
the several billionth time.

I imagine these faces
thirty years from now.
Corpulent, similar?
I would greet these features,
yet approach them
as if some ancient virus
had desecrated the finest detail
of the soft human face.

And after this,
I watch the faces crumble
and recede inward,
shying away, it seems
from pressure and volume,
and laughter and age.

Skeletal now,
the eyes close and disappear.
Cheekbones collapse,
plates fracture.

Yet I do not know
my own face as well.
What will I remind myself of
in thirty years?
Death? Happiness?

[Leanne]

These are good thoughts, and an interesting progression. You do, however, take an awfully long time to get to the meat of the poem, which is in the final stanza. Now that you have your rather corpulent body of a poem and you know its basic features, I'd like to introduce you to something called "the sweat". Editing is one of the most painful parts of poetry, but it's also vitally important to make sure that you shape the best poem possible out of your initial words. To sweat, go back over the poem with your goal in mind -- in this case, it's to lead in to the last stanza with some descriptive detail. Now take out everything that isn't needed to reach that goal, or is distracting you along the way.

You give your game away in the first stanza with the wrinkles, which is not a problem except that you reiterate that throughout and it's unnecessary.

Faces I have known
for most of my life,
are seen now, wrinkled
and torn with tired smiles.

These faces I once knew,
three years fresh, -- does removing these lines make any difference?
I watch decay slightly, -- the I is irrelevant, and closes this line off to the reader -- removing it makes it a statement
and in other parts, grow
bloated, tortuous, enlarged.
Eyes that once shone,
now flicker,
scraped and blinked -- why past tense here? Scraped maybe, but blinked?
for perhaps
the several billionth time -- if you're going to use hyperbole, make it definitive. "Perhaps" is pointless and "several" is non-specific. Call it fifty billionth or something.

I imagine these faces -- you can do without this line
thirty years from now
Corpulent, similar? -- and this one, far too much telling, let the reader use his/her imagination
I would greet these features,
yet approach them
as if some ancient virus -- why is ancient necessary? Surely just a virus will do?
had desecrated the finest detail
of the soft human face.

And after this, -- you could remove this part
I watch the faces crumble -- that damned I again
and recede inward,
shying away, it seems -- make it certain, not merely possible
from pressure and volume,
and laughter and age. -- the and detracts from the rhythm and weakens the line

Skeletal now, -- this is implied and probably doesn't need to be stated
the eyes close and disappear. -- removing "the" strengthens this line
Cheekbones collapse,
plates fracture.

Yet I do not know -- no need for "yet", let it flow without that pause
my own face as well.
What will I remind myself of
in thirty years?
Death? Happiness?


You have fun now It really does have good bones (pardon the pun), but the flesh is weighing it down.