I have a poem...

[Draemora]

I wrote this poem a few minutes ago... It's still very rough and I need help polishing it.

Sandbox

Watch as the children tinker with their new toys,
playing like infants that reek of sweat and sand.
Their cloths drenched with sanguine gore,
their brow dripping under the radiant sun.
Watch! Watch as they play on the tattered soil!
Scream! Scream as they burn and roar!
Shout! Shout as they gouge their filthy bloodshot eyes!
Praise them! Give them a hero’s welcome!
Love the children that play with toys,
bullies of the yard!
Bow to their feet and kiss their hand,
for they have renounced their nature as man,
becoming children…
Children infatuated with wrath.





I'm iffy about the ellipsis at the end, maybe "becoming children infatuated with wrath" would be better.
Also, maybe changing rights for nature. Rights has a connotation of legality that I don't want to convey.

[Nancy R.]

I love the meaning of that poem, if I got it right, at least. Keep the ellipsis, there's a reason it got there. It gives a bigger importance to what they became, so it's alright. Nature sounds good as a replacement of rights. I'll tell you more later.

[Flags_Forever]

Damn, that's good...

[forthelasttime]

Have you considered seeing a professional about that mental disorder of yours?

[Draemora]

Mar 31, 2011 4:46:54 GMT -5 forthelasttime said:

Have you considered seeing a professional about that mental disorder of yours?

I don't think I follow you.

[forthelasttime]

On Twitter, YouTube, or Facebook?

[Draemora]

Mar 31, 2011 9:32:13 GMT -5 forthelasttime said:

On Twitter, YouTube, or Facebook?

Oh man... Sooo funneh

[Draemora]

I have another poem. This one is not as good though... I should also mention that I come up with them at 2am before I sleep. I usually write them after I have experienced some type of emotional inspiration throughout the day.

Extremes

Two breaths of endless banter,
with double bands of rancid slander.
Growl with passion;
Purr with lore.
Conniving bitches suckled in slough.

Man can’t think but bask in gold;
policies of bull-SHIRT,
promises thrown out the door.
Trapped am I, an endless dancer,
the tool of mad and senseless masters.

[Flags_Forever]

Apr 20, 2011 0:42:25 GMT -5 Draemora said:

I have another poem. This one is not as good though... I should also mention that I come up with them at 2am before I sleep. I usually write them after I have experienced some type of emotional inspiration throughout the day.

Extremes

Two breaths of endless banter,
with double bands of rancid slander.
Growl with passion;
Purr with lore.
Conniving bitches suckled in slough.

Man can’t think but bask in gold;
policies of bull-SHIRT,
promises thrown out the door.
Trapped am I, an endless dancer,
the tool of mad and senseless masters.

Interesting. Very interesting...