This Poem was Submitted By: cheyenne smyth On Date: 2012-10-19 15:32:15 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!

Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!

Dying Winds

Eyes hide in antique lines tears cascade where echoes keep memories safe She gathers stars from clouds of night shapes them to fit her heart that weeps in shallow runes Words pile in corners afraid to speak lest shackled meanings seem trite like whispers washing away truth Eyes and heart closed she awaits dying winds

Copyright © October 2012 cheyenne smyth

This Poem was Critiqued By: Ellen K Lewis On Date: 2012-10-23 02:45:51
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Like sitting at the bed side, I felt these words through and through. What awesome ways you have of expression! I love every single train of thought..and that leads me to one sugestion. Eyes hide in antique lines tears cascade where echoes keep memories safe ^^ ok now that is good ^^ but for me I would read it as this: Eyes hidden in antique lines tears cascade where echoes keep memories safe. seem trite like whispers washing away truth ...I have been at the death beds of too many a friend and family, and know for certain this description is intensly involving and ~ perfect ~ perhaps the most important thing in the last tired moments of old life.. So my only suggestion then is to arrange your lines with more structure. Sorry not alot of help! But I am fed by these words. It is a comfort to know that it is always the same, always the order of things. Being a part of that is a good thing. Thanks for sharing this! and in October too! :) smiles ~ Ellen

This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2012-10-22 15:15:20
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
cheyenne, it would behoove me to resist the looking behind while glancing ahead, interpretive dance this piece takes me to. It is too easy to speak to the integrity of living and dying and miss the aspects of the passenger. There is where the treasure is held. The –antique eyes- are always a matter of travel more than of age. Undoubtedly somewhere in the depths is found the –tears- (at times profuse) and the memories. However the story is that with the integrity of knowledge comes the inverse action that with the passing, fewer look deeply inside the eyes of the traveler. Those temples hold a polished intimacy gained no other way. –runes- if read, the reader will find there is magic in the reading. And –words- and –truth- When I finish reading the best of books, or poetry, there is always the pause that wishes it would continue, sort of an aura of belief that has transited where only that moment of diction could traverse. Sometimes it takes days for the aura to dissipate and in a sense I await the –dying winds- maybe more a metaphor for living than death, or vice versa, but certainly a –meaning- for life. -trite whispers- for the reader of the whisperer, the traveler; there is never such. In another place the truth of the traveler unmasked will not be seen as such. However, those who accompanied the traveler on the journey know the truth, whether they will honor it or not. In reality, the –runes- speak more of the participants than the traveler. It is the traveler whose passions have painted the canvas, it is really the participants who must escape the –dying winds- I know, a lot of nothing, but this piece is not such to me. It is revelation to the watcher.
Poetry Contests Online at The Poetic Link

Click HERE to return to Database Page!