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Well if you really care what I have to say about the last poem, I think it's fantastic. ^^
It really appealed to me perhaps with the dark theme. ^^ The rain sets the feeling perfectly, I could imagine a scene in my mind. It set my mind on fire, made me wonder what had happened to the person's sister... Quote:
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The flow was nice, and I loved the bits in italics; they tell a whole story on their own if you read them without the rest. Lovely ^^ ~Kylie |
Hitler's Love
As the torrents of rain soak What sunlight there should be From the despondent dawn, Corpses lie in their scores, Swollen, drenched, not just by Water, but by the blood oozing Out from their hearts. Two vultures, nestled close, Watch, unstirred, as they swoop Down and pick the eyes and ears And flesh until they both are fully Gorged. Leaving their hollow remnants In peace, they fly back to their dead Twig upon dead tree, and embrace, Almost with affection. As he drives his jet black motor Through the streets of Berlin, His fumes of human roast, clinging To his bristle moustache, the Fuhrer Stops, at a small florist to pick up Roses for his beloved Eva upon his Return to his hidden hideaway. Should we rejoice in this gratitude That the epitome of evil can find the Smallest morsel of warm, tender love In the icy caverns of his heart, Or should we despair, for in these caverns Of ignorant radiance lies the stone cold truths of Evil, Malice and Hatred. I hope everyone likes it... well, I think ^_^ |
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I adore the descriptions you used, especially this part: His fumes of human roast, clinging To his bristle moustache, the Fuhrer It made me think of an ecil so great...that no human could possibly surpass it. To me, Hitler was not a man. He was the lowest parasite that could have ever existed upon this earth. The murderous traits he had...and the torture chambers he had concocted...that man was truly evil. Your poem doesn't just show the evil that was vurning inside Hitler, but you bring light to the dreadful moment. This is the part I'm talking about: Stops, at a small florist to pick up Roses for his beloved Eva upon his Return to his hidden hideaway. The part with the roses sort of brings light to the moment of despair. For it contrasts quite nicely. An evil man hold a beautiful flower. Yet every rose has its thorns. Awesome job Jon! ^^ I absolutely loved it. <3333 *glomps* ~Kelsey |
Psychiatry
I grab my pistol from my pocket. I shoot the first person I see. In the chest. In the heart. Everyone flees in danger. I shoot again. A woman this time. Almost point blank range. I shoot randomly. I then reload. I keep shooting everyone. No one can hide from me. I shoot a man in blue. I shoot another one. And another one. And another one. Until I am shot. With a dart. I grow weary. I shoot again. I miss. I fall. I collapse. I wake in a cell, bare and empty. A balding man sits at the other side. He asks me the same question. Why did I shoot? WHY did I shoot? WHY DID I SHOOT? How am I supposed to know? He thinks I'm insane. Although, maybe I am. Why did I shoot those people? The balding man says he'll speak tomorrow. I hear him uttering the words: Hopeless Case. Why am I Hopless? Why am I here? Why did I shoot those people? Just... why? |
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