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The Metaphor I wandered till I came upon the glade used for summer festival’s dance but remnants of scorched grass and trampled earth were still prevalent and stumps served as benches where I sat to remember you painful and sad in its exactness And about me the trees were cloaked in wait where the crows with ebony eyes roosted the only movement came from laden skies as one by one they landed on branches I threw a stone at the nearest but it just fluttered up and down again I ached in love and let myself wallow in the metaphor before me |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2012-10-13 10:38:51
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
cheyenne, there are so many things that this can be applied to, of love, of politics, of this site, of you and your life, of me and my life; it is poignant.
Of the metaphor, you were able to add a universality, and yet I never left you sitting on the stump. You were always there, and I felt an empathy for you, and for me, and for everyone, particularly for you.
I despise crows with a passion, so I threw the rock with you, and as usual, they dodge it. Some may say the inevitability of life’s occurances sustain themselves, but one must conitinue to believe there is hope. Although there is no active hope in this piece, the indirect ability to cause movement of the scavengers, reflects the hope, as does the actual term –metaphor- in this piece. Metaphors are often predeliction, not necessarily actual endings.
I sat with you and –ached in love- and that is enough for me.