An old poem

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Alisaura

Blue Crack Supplier
Joined
Jul 21, 2000
Messages
30,442
Location
Melbourne, Australia
I wrote this when I was about 17, 4-5 years ago. It just blurped out of my brain in English class one day, I wasn't feeling particularly depressed, I have no idea where it came from.

The Final Irony

Two young lovers
lives shattered,
stained fragments.
He wants only to die.
If Life is Hell,
How much worse
Is Death?
Life is endless pain
Death is infinite peace
and oblivion-
Heaven.
She is not so sure...
Maybe things will get better?
Maybe one day,
the Pain will be gone?
But no-
The Pain, Hurt unimaginable
Pain, Hurt, Suffering...
Memories.
He is determined
Death is all he lives for;
She can't live without him,
He can't die without her
She must choose.
To live, and suffer-
Pain
Or to die, with love-
Peace.
Pain or Peace?
Life or Love?
He is pleading
She loves him
She will go
where he goes.
It'll be all right,
it won't hurt; like sleep
Creeping calm
the drugs take effect
The dose too large
to leave any doubt...
One last
kiss,
a toast to happiness
Her eyes close
slow motion
She slips away
Smile... Peace.
He is nearly there...
Crawling coldness
Lurch, twist
Room swirls, spinning
Upside out inside down
Cracks and chasms
HalLuciNatiOns
It wasn't meant to be
like this
Struggle, gag
Retch
Vomit.
There is no Peace,
There is no Relief
Only Pain -
His salvation lies stinking on the floor.
She is gone
without him
The drugs are gone
without him
His life is gone
without him.
He is alone
Alone
Her peaceful face
gently mocking...
Alone.
 
Wow, good work Alisaura!

you and scappy have definitely darkened the mood so I will have to post one of my darker ones . . . I wish I could give you a more detailed response right this minute, but it will have to wait till later . . .
 
Wow, Alisaura! That was great! Isn't it odd how these things just sometimes arrive unexectedly? And you're almost afraid to touch them, because you don't know where they came from...

It's a truly beautiful and haunting poem, very heart-wrenching because you know it's happened. I wonder why the harsh ones are always easier to write...what does that say about us?!

------------------
Shelly Caplinger
"Dream out loud"
 
I hope not too much scappy, but they say that if you want to take art to its highest plateau you must make friends with tragedy first . . . just think about the greatest love story of the English language for a moment . . . how many different forms has Shakespeare's story of two "star-crossed lovers" assumed over the last 400 years, that tale will never go away . . . and yes, there are people like this out there, and the thought makes your heart cry out in pain . . . it's a perfect tragedy, congrats.
 
Yes, tragedy is appealling, but I'm hoping to move on to some brighter topics, though equally heavy...

Again, it was a super poem, Alisaura!

------------------
Shelly Caplinger
"Dream out loud"
 
Alisaura! wow! Between you, wanderer and scappy, I am sure I am surrounded by very talented people. I can't write, but I do enjoy reading poetry. It gives such an insight on how people are -those little corners of the mind- and how sometimes we can all relate and discover pieces of ourselves we weren't even aware of. So I must admit it, I like to be challenged and provoked, uplifted and disappointed... even on a language which isn't my own. So pleeeeease continue posting!!

Hope you don't think i am being selfish
smile.gif
 
Thanks everyone...!
One:love, I can't see how your post could possibly be construed as selfish.
smile.gif
How do you know you can't write? Have you tried? I didn't think I could write until I gave it a go and suddenly things were coming back from the teachers with smiley stamps on them.
smile.gif
Well, maybe not in that case...
I'm more of a prose person... but I've got a few more pomes.
 
hahahaha what I meant by being selfish is that I am doing all of the reading and none of the posting around here
biggrin.gif


The truth is I have never liked writing that much, I know how some people can write and pour on paper everything that's going on in their lives/minds, but I guess I just don't feel comfortable doing that. Or not yet...
 
For me, writing is a way of sorting everythign out for myself. I sift through all the "stuff" going on, and in the process of writing it all out, seem to come to some sort of conclusion. It's been very helpful. And sometimes, I realize that what I thought was bothering my wasn't the culprit at all!

------------------
Shelly Caplinger
"Dream out loud"
 
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