-=Dark_Angel=-, P.I.
on Torment by ThoughtfulSoul
18 Oct 2003, 5:09 AM
Splendid!
I am the master of sonnets. No one else is allowed to write them.
I always thought that poetry was wet and only for squares. I also thought that it couldn't be relevant to the youth of today. However, then I saw that you had used the phrase "mother fucker" at the end of your poem, and I realised just how wrong I had been. This really hit me hard.
I think it's a good job you copyrighted this poem, in case any poetry tycoons try to steal your work. -10-
first verse: 10
Second verse: 0
Average: 5
You have a very distinctive and individual style, which I like. I think you may enjoy some of my work (although it is sometimes misunderstood).
this totally cracked me up. though i don't exactly understand the second verse. i mean, usually it's the guys who bail, right?
in your search for perfection, you have coded out existence; congratulations.
great poem, keep up the good work :)
good poem, i would have chosen less colourful words for the last line, but thats just me
may i suggest something? you can't assume someone is in heaven, not at all, all we can say is we hope they are and keep praying for them. good poem though 10
SEE now that's a SONNET!
I knew you could do it.
The voices in my head (I too am not alone) often tell me to jump - which I do, straight up - until I realize that gravity is not my friend. I find myself falling right back in, my sudden grip lost. My torment. Nice.
I lost my best friend ever - my wife. I often want to look back, but know - that to exist, I must not turn my gaze. The voice is in front, looking back at me.
Good job.
L22---flesh and steal...steel? Though I do like the whap I get at the image in the way you have spelled it.
Your yearning comes across strong.
OOOO! and OOOOOO!!!! I like this. I have so much trouble thinking and judging how to view and express. This looks to be an invaluable aide. *** APPLAUSE! ***
Robotic flowers smell like poop, and are useless in the natural universe. A vibrator is only as good as the distance between your hole and "it" and the means in which you span that said distance, coupled by the time it takes to do that said deed in. The lack of 'perfection' is in the need to. And that goes for all of you peasants.
Your poems are pretty. I want to chew through your underwear in the dark.