Wake up every morning
Not sure about today
Does the sun rise outside your window
Or is your sky the last to see shades of gray?
...
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At first I thought your poem would create a mental drowse in me as the images piled up before my watching eyes, but suddenly the energy of this imagery stirred me, shook me really and I was wide awake! This is not a passively delivered list of observations ANYONE could make, but a list which display your unique point of view with a passion. And the emotional tone goes through changes in degree of intensity. Some of it quiet and sad, other passages full of clenched passion. For example, this passage hit me: ALL OF US DYING IN DELUSION/BROKEN WINGED CREATURES, STALE AND UNSATISFIED. This powerful expression contains at least a partial solution to the very crisis it announces. That is, you are summoning others to join you in a spirit of reawakening.This may be only a small step forward in your mind, a provisional change, but as poetry it speaks eloquently to the reader.
At first I thought your poem would create a mental drowse in me as the images piled up before my watching eyes, but suddenly the energy of this imagery stirred me, shook me really and I was wide awake! This is not a passively delivered list of observations ANYONE could make, but a list which display your unique point of view with a passion. And the emotional tone goes through changes in degree of intensity. Some of it quiet and sad, other passages full of clenched passion. For example, this passage hit me: ALL OF US DYING IN DELUSION/BROKEN WINGED CREATURES, STALE AND UNSATISFIED. This powerful expression contains at least a partial solution to the very crisis it announces. That is, you are summoning others to join you in a spirit of reawakening.This may be only a small step forward in your mind, a provisional change, but as poetry it speaks eloquently to the reader.
Those last three lines after the ellipsis are devastating. I felt their impact viscerally, WHAM! The grief of loss could not be more powerfully expressed than this rambling, self-indulgent monologue suddenly shut down by the sheer FACT OF LOSS, irrevocable loss. The monologue is a catalogue of complaints, that just about any middle or upper middle class person could make. That's the nature of modern society: we experience our lives as unique whereas they are commonplace. Everybody does it, everybody knows it, everybody feels it - just as everything flattens out, that very personal pain of loss strikes and you know you have to carry that weight all by yourself. (This poem spoke tome in a new way upon rereading it.) .