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What are some things that come to mind when reading this?
The man dabbles with his pencil In his own perpetual cognition he muses with his soul, Who whispers to his mind And exasperates that the truth be told and his confessions be made.
He turned to his side, A grief expression on his face The sun left; her face filled to the brim with frowns of worry And whispered to the moon to shimmer himself brightly in the night sky so he could write
He lined the pages with his blood For his excuse was he had no ink to write Materializing his imagination through the science of love Through his blood, he shed
Letting the page fall out of his hand He let his heart do the work As he clenched his hand Feeling the grief spill, seep, and plague
The air which be breathed And set against his eyes, softening them with their toxic touch Gently whispering them to close As he fell into a deep sleep
Waters fell from the sky Trickling on his empty page Guiding his blood through each crevice That flourished into a wondrous dark blue
And evaporated into a dark grey Filling the sky with colors, alas. His blood moved no more. and silence quaked the very earth
From which he pressed his hand And set forth his being Against the page of time And let it loose To run amuck
And hoped that it would return To conquer the world For his vengeance was pure As the night sky he had crafted
But nonetheless His heart was weak From the love that he had ripped And he could not set forth
With the willpower of a thousand dead men And in that silence Was when he let himself go To plague his own soul
With the air that was impure, And let himself collapse And rot Into a beautiful flower
That would one day be plucked And be graced with the hair Of a young maiden And he too, would be happy.
My interpretation of it is that, a man is outside somewhere, theres a women who’s waiting for him to be done and she’s frowning because she doesnt want to die, but she doesnt want to live without him, he writes in his own blood, confessions and sins that he might have made, it’s getting dark so he asks the moon to shine brighter so he can have more light to write. He just keeps writing and writing. In the fourth stanza he lets the paper fall, he then stabs the women who was waiting for him to do so in stanza two. He touches her blood spill on the ground and feels it go as it seeps into the ground. Stanza five he kills himself with some sort of poison gas, it makes him sleepy and he falls asleep and dies. Stanza six it starts to rain, which he knew it would, it makes the blood un off the page and the blue lines on the page “bleeds” and turns the page blue. In stanza seven the paper then turns to grey and is very soaked and almost gone from the rain, the rain stops, and a rainbow comes, his blood is no longer running through his veins or off the paper and the earth is quiet in their deaths. Stanzas eight, nine, and, ten are in retrospect. In eight it goes over how he held the paper in his hand, the paper that he wrote of his sins on, which his sins were who he was, and he let the paper fall and be ruined by the rain, the rain he knew would come and ruin his paper, because he’s not an evil man and he didnt want to leave any evil behind in the world he just wanted to get all his sins out on paper before he died and then have his sins die with him, but only for a perod of time until the world is ready to know of them, beacuse in stanza nine he wants them to return and for everyone to know them and be moved by them and to know that everyone sins. The humiliation he felt for some of hs sins was strong and he wants the world to know that those things happen, but even though he knows this he still cant stop feeling it because in stanzas ten and eleven his heart is weak still from it, from one of the sins he’s made more than the others, the one where he feels he accept that women’s love, but couldnt give it back to her like she deserved and in the moment when he first realized that is when he decided he would kill himself and forever torture himself for it to make it up to her. Stanzas tweleve and thirteen arent in retrospect anymore. They’re continuing to tell of how he poisoned himself and let himself die and decompose into a flower which would one day be plucked by a little girl and worn in her hair, which would make him happy, because he wanted to leave behind something beautiful.
And, very nce by the way, it’s like another version of romeo and julliette. :D I could be waaaaaaay off on what you were going for, though.
Well I did ask what you thought of or what came to mind so I was expecting something obtuse from my interpretation, thanks for that :) I like knowing that this poem of mine is ambiguous :)
Very good Mig!
I think it conveys a desperation to be known. The poet struggles with a feeling that he is misunderstood… and hopes that he can somehow be encapsulated in his words… that through them he would be known. Not farmous… but understood. Ultimately to be appreciated… even if he himself will never feel the warmth of recognition…
Not to take away from your unique prospective… but my first impression reading it reminded me of the lyrics to a song that influenced a work of mine… if you haven’t heard the song… I’m sure you could appreciate it:
AFI - Now the World
BBBAAAAARRRFFFF!
Geezus… kid… that’s a little harsh… but duly noted… ur not a fan. Here’s a mop to clean up after yourself!
Eh, im rude, I dont clean up my pukey,I leave it for the next guy.
Well… at least ur doing ur part to help keep janitorial jobs in America… I guess it ain’t all bad. Maybe I deserve part of the credit for playing hurl inducing music.
Of corse, half the credit for keeping custodians alive is yours.
No adulations necessary… all in a day’s work.
poop…
poop…
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