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01-07-2006, 03:53 PM | #1 |
TeenLit Newbie
Join Date: Dec 2005
Posts: 15
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Clocks
Spinning the threads of existence,
My hands weave an afghan Of experience, periods, and centuries. Enslaved by a man, Who created a circular cell To incarcerate humanity with the fear of the finite. My rain has washed away, Every child’s Chalked pavement masterpiece. My flames have reached, As high as the crayon scribbles You used to mark your growth. I replaced all the damage I’ve done To your first house. In giving you a 3rd story apartment in the city. Where you will lock all the doors, Seal all the cracks So naiveté can’t seep in. Longing for when you weren’t Trapped. In the radius of My circular cell That has imprisoned you, and everyone you know. |
01-07-2006, 05:33 PM | #2 |
TeenLit Regular
Join Date: May 2005
Posts: 40
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Good poem Lots of powerful words and an intruiging concept.
The phrasing is a little akward in parts, though. |
01-07-2006, 05:38 PM | #3 |
TeenLit Newbie
Join Date: Dec 2005
Posts: 15
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Thanks, awkward phrasing is my weakness.
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01-08-2006, 03:51 PM | #4 |
TeenLit Regular
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Good Job on the poem.. it has good meter. but like ch'ken warrior said.. there are some awkard phrases! but other than that good job
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