Snubbed remnant of this line
A book, that is but, mine.
Some pages therein, they
Remain blank, pearly – white.
There are no stories, there are no tales,
They are just dreams
Ruffians strayed into daylight.
Several pages are murky
Others, torn
One stamped and some forlorn.
Where was the dawn?
Desuetude shall be whence?
Blood is smeared ink
Almost faded in penance.
Thin are thy pages
Frail even to tactility
It will not be read
Ever, thy is mere unholy sages...
You are trying hands on poetry..cool.
ReplyDeleteI really liked it..but the two lines
"Where was the dawn?
Desuetude shall be whence?"
Seem to break the flow,it would be better to place them at the end or even get rid of them.
Any special reason for using the 2nd person Genetive archaic 'thy' ..if m not wrong it means 'yours'.You are not addressing the book in the earlier part of the poem but talking about it in 3rd person.Addressing the book is not going with the flow.
And honestly ,i was not able to get the last line..though i maintain that a poem never has one meaning ,its open to the imagination of each reader,wat was yours when u wrote the last line?
Keep writing..:)
It is as if i was pointing towards the book then took it in my hand and started 'addressing' it. 'Unholy sages' is the difference between what is seen from outside and what is not seen inside... as i said, i keep my failures private!
ReplyDelete