fury (phoenixfury) wrote in omega_poetry,

This is only a first draft, and while I like it I am not yet entirely happy with it, I think that while I've got the mood down, I'm still just a few steps away from pinning down that emotional resonance, from getting it to say exactly what I want it to say...

Any suggestions of what you think the focus should be more/less on, or areas you'd like more emphasis, would be appreciated. Along, of course, with a general crit.


in a prism of colors
the sun begins to set
sinking down below the horizon
dangling in the sky
waiting, patient, for its time
to fall off the edge of the earth
the world is painted in soft colors
like pastels
as night falls
so gently

the house is dark
and the cold goes too deep
to be fought off
by just putting on a sweater
it is a forlorn sensation
a lonely yearning
that reaches down to the bones
and rattles them in their cage

an unimposing child sits
in the middle of the room
crates and boxes and papers scattered throughout
the external wreckage of the internal storm
being pulled up from his roots
and repotted
like a plant that had grown
too much
to be kept in the same pot

like being told
that if you follow your path in life
and if you grow too tall
and change too much
you have to pay the consequences
because you can be ripped up
and torn down
and potted and replanted
until this is nothing but a memory

and you may even still have
the knowledge
that when you're standing at the edge of the earth
you will be the first to see
the sun rising
over the hills and lighting the skies
a witness to a tragic beauty
and as day breaks again
and frees you from your shackles
you sit
forced into your mold
cut down to your size
unable to bask
in your little flowerpot

it's never home
the second time around.
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