This Poem was Submitted By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2003-12-06 21:45:03 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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A Failure To

I think about how I died. a knife wound so large my soul fell out upon the North Dakota  snow cold and white a pale youthful skin the inevitable blood  whose red stains his pulling me fast away from the malling crowd the unthinkables – his limping away into misery back into the hell from which  he crawled just months ago chains clanking, the jail cell the courtroom scene the search for me your rumors and theories when you find my remains  I will be far away, watching you probe my wounds, count the holes, wipe your tears from my frozen face, thaw my carcass slowly so as to preserve evidence, ultimately decide that I'm indeed the one who has been sought, the one you didn’t want to find. I think about why I died. About the How you try to deny. That you taught me to be safe. That you strive to make sure before you release them. About the parking lot who cannot speak    that knows Who and When and How. About the light of lamps tall above, About the flight of birds in the night, About the end of my too short life, About the songs I would sing  And the air we’d share Had I lived to breathe. And I think about why we failed. About how he failed. And as they place me in my tomb, I wonder just who failed whom, more.

Copyright © December 2003 Thomas Edward Wright

This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2004-01-03 15:00:51
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.33333
Failure To communicate with the universal fire of eros? Perhaps - but those of us living simply and without that kind of passion envy him and earnestly applaud you a knife wound so large my soul fell out [brilliant thought]upon the North Dakota snow cold and white a pale youthful skin the inevitable blood whose red stains his pulling me fast away from the malling [the old Madding crowd - now in the mall? -clever and cleverer] And the air we’d share Had I lived to breathe. ahhhhh.......lost love ...shades of R and J --but as Oscar observed - we do all kill the thing we love. And I think about why we failed. About how he failed. And as they place me in my tomb, I wonder just who failed whom, more. right...we always wonder that ...brilliant as usual

This Poem was Critiqued By: madge B zaiko On Date: 2004-01-02 11:50:55
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.38710
Wonderful poem Thomas!!!!!Again! The story is so clear and fasinating!There are so many facets to it! and wonderful images! The only thing I would look over is the line "whose red stains" it made me do a double take to understand what you meant there. Could I suggest maybe using "the inevitable blood Stained; Red." ? Just a thought. Thank you for sharing this!!!!Blessings!!!!!! -Madge
This Poem was Critiqued By: Jennifer j Hill On Date: 2003-12-21 15:46:18
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.90909
Tom, every time I read this I get more and more outraged. I forget about being passive, loving, kind. Like Bruce Almighty, I want to be God and dole out justice. jj
This Poem was Critiqued By: April Rose Ochinang Claessens On Date: 2003-12-17 03:07:43
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
thomas, this is so "undertaker"--ingly good poetry!! i have felt goosebumps all over my body. i have felt power from the beginning of the piece,i.e. "I think about how I died."i mean, this is just WOW! i cant believe a poem like this can make me have goosebumps, yet still make me feel good after having read it. thanks for sharing it.april
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2003-12-11 16:46:49
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.66667
So many deep, intense poems I have come across today my friend and this one certainly fits that ........ Good structure, allowing the reader not to drift off but to remain true to the read. This read brings forth a man I shall name, Billy......he has been in jail for most of the past eight years yet never came to trial since he plays the system and is always found incompetent.....intent to murder, assault and battery, uses his hands well, victims always end up in hospital so very near death.......last time he was released he went to his homeless place, found his stash of alcohol and shared it with a friend whom he murdered later that night.....again, he sits in jail awaiting a trial that will never sad the system fails over and over again. The man died, blood covered his head and Billy's clothes but the weapon most used was his very strong hands due to the alcohol and drugs consumed that night.......images, indeed your piece has brought forth much. So many times over and over this happens.........thanks for posting and sharing, be safe and God Bless, Claire Sorry if I ran off the wrong path but indeed you created and I felt.....
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2003-12-10 11:17:16
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.66667
Hi Tom, Wow...this one really gets me. A story of abduction and murder about a killer released from prison after doing the same thing he is now accused of again. Cleverly written by the deceased victim...but who better to write this grizzley account of the crime...."a knife wound so large my soul fell out"..this line certainly lets the reader know that this piece is one of those so compelling that it screams 'read me'. ..."inevitble blood whose red stains"..."fast away from the malling crown." This line is the most telling, in the beginning, of what the story is about..for me anyway...."his limping away into misery back into the hell from which he crawled" This is a great line...why is there so much recidivism in this country? Why should anyone be allowed back into society after such a henious crime?..."When you find my remains"...This line and the image of the victim that follows was extremly difficult for me to read, probably because it is so graphic and the thought of that young girl frozen and full of 'holes' is almost unbearable..."thaw my carcass slowly as to preserve the evidence"...gut wrenching. Then "I think about why I died" she thinks about the parking lot that cannot speak, the light, flights of birds in the night, about the songs she would sing if she were allowed to keep breathing. Then when she goes to her tomb she wonders who failed. This is such a deplorable crime but to write about it in this manner is pure genius...don't get a swelled head or anything but this is great...Marilyn
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2003-12-09 16:40:34
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Ho, And so on we go, the magical mystery tour. I would hope the route is over sea, in a boat. No other, plebian means of travel would befit. A failure dos. Absolutely. There is no I, only you and me (the personal of the PRO-nouns being nothing but rhetorical). Miserable failures both. There is nothing new under the sun. The Manxman
This Poem was Critiqued By: Sherri L Smith On Date: 2003-12-07 23:46:57
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.50000
Thomas, Again I am in awe, this is a wonderful poem full of feeling and of course very timely. I agree wholeheartedly, leave the criminals in a cell where they belong, not where they can get ahold of another poor innocent. Thanks for sharing, Sherri
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