This Poem was Submitted By: Mandie J Overocker On Date: 2011-03-28 18:16:11 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!
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Copyright © March 2011 Mandie J Overocker
Shattered Soul Snows
it snowed today
big fluffy flakes
from my soulâ€™s heartache
shattered inside to separate
intense emotions from the core
each crystal flake floated down
from my frozen heart once more
nothing overcomes the fear
of looking at whatâ€™s buried deep
another day without eating
another night without sleep
as parts inside begin to awake
acting out isolated view
harming those that I hold dear
whilst leaving me without a clue
â€œThis isnâ€™t me!â€ I want to scream
but somehow I must understand
that from within each part is me
who takes control of my hand
my heart has broken as Iâ€™ve learned
deep within it is plausible
for me to engage in the very thing
that I thought impossible
so as I wait to find that place
where we can safely explore
I watch the snow quietly fall
from my shattered soul once more
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2011-04-03 14:42:33
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
As low as we go, is as high as we rise. So that can explain depth.
Safety be damned, there is none.
You are doing well.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2011-04-02 13:03:29
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.83333
I think, sometime soon I will repost an older piece about inspiration and desperation. I want to reach out into you and grasp that sensitivity, the impetus- that is driving you to write.
Your first stanza of snow and crystallized tears a an amazing analogy. It makes your last line of the stanza â€œsoulâ€™s heartacheâ€ either reinforced or upstaged- either way the stanza sets the stage for your entire piece.
My love of winter screams at me with this piece, of â€œfrozen heartâ€ and â€œcrystal flakeâ€. We are torn with the writer, and yet in the macabre view of looking out the window, onto a stark, long tempered, winter- the same vision that makes us wish for spring, but understand the ice and cold- makes us watch as you share that scene with us.
Seeing the writer needing sleep, and fearing her own humanity within, endears us to her. She is not near as alone as it seems.
I recall in sci-fi, the races that share a common knowledge and requiem, by the very fact that they meld, and cannot prevent such- with us humans we all think what we hide is original, when what we hide has been hidden by others, many many times. As you roll over sleepless, there is the comfort of numbers.
The bifurcation â€œthis isnâ€™t meâ€, is tangible. To â€œengage in the very thing that I though impossibleâ€, obviously despised, is human.
And you leave us with the snow, quietly falling, after the tumult of passion. There is no place â€œwe can safely exploreâ€. Safety loves only itself. We must see ourselves the same way.
A passionate, powerful piece.
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