|I Once Had Nothing
||[May. 23rd, 2009|04:49 pm]
I once had that which was perfect.
'Twas perfect that which I had.
Perfect does not exist.
I once nothing ever had.
You should post more poetry more often... I enjoyed this one. For once, words speak louder than actions.
I typically don't do poetry. This is something that came to me when thinking about someone from my past. I'm not happy with the thrd line and how it abrutly interrupts the flow, but I like the implications of it being a reality check and waking the speaker from the dream.
You hate poetry. You refuse to read it, you refuse to write it.
Were you lying then, or are you lying now?
I do hate poetry generally, though there are a few poems I really do enjoy (i.e. Robert Frost's Nothing Gold Can Stay or Rudyard Kipling's If or The Gods of the Copybook Headings)
I hate poetry because it is general too abstract to make any sense to anyone other than the reader. But in this instance, I was able to convey in short lines my train of thought as well as the moment of epiphany and melancholy conclusion.
I hate poetry because it is general too abstract to make any sense to anyone other than the reader.
The reader sir, is the point. It sometimes means different things to different people. When you dislike something solely because you don't understand it, it makes you look foolish.
Shit. That was a typo. I meant to say author.