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What is this emptiness of thought?
Life was once a panorama of bright
                                                    unfamiliar landscapes of worlds.
                    a maze of syllables and
                                                gradual inclines of understanding.
                    a landscape of dull practice
                                                    punctuated by long books and
                                    slow fear
         Places only I could be
Music I heard, and nobody else.
                 Focus, attention
         I never needed anybody.
         I needed only to be left alone.
         Nobody ever needed me.
         It was all so easy.

                 something’s happened though.
What is this new emptiness of thought?

What’s this need for talk
                        for dancing eyes
                             still togetherness
                             fleeting smiles
                                         that hide
                             memories that last?
What’s this fascination for speech?
          this need for understanding?
          this wish for companionship?
          this desire for another’s happiness?
Where has my self gone?
                                                               I am swimming in the sea                                                                     of another’s eyes
and the only language i speak is “forever”
                                                          why doesn't anybody hear?
                           i don’t think
                  anybody understands
how numb I have been
                                           (sat still too long)
how this rushing blood stings
                                           (like needles in my skin)
how i don’t work right still
                                           (just learning to move again)
how much help i need.

What is this emptiness of thought?
            and preoccupation
                                    with deed?
My heart is in another’s hands now.
My self evaporates in the heat of another’s gaze.
My mind follows the whims of another’s capricious fancy.

I never knew what I was missing.

What am I missing?
A poem I wrote about not wanting to write poetry anymore.
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dyrwen Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2006  Hobbyist Writer
Kind of a long comment incoming, but yeah, I liked this one.
After the 3rd line it takes on a non capitalized form at the start of each new line and I wonder if that was intentional. It sort of alludes to more being said in the negative space than is there, since the 9th line goes back to a short-sentence format. I like how it quickens the pace of the writing to make short sentences like that though, then its elongation out into "Perfection...Emptiness.." etc keeps it running right along at a good speed.

It almost feels like I can't see the "I" in the piece until "I never needed anybody" which may say something about the other times you used "I" and the words surrounding them. It was more indirect, I suppose, and since got more direct as you started off sentences with the word. The more philosophical moments when you started asking questions felt rather playful to me, personally, and I think they balance the way the poem was going. Since it kind of bends closer and closer to your, or whoever's, brain until the reader gets to read the questions making the mind think.

By the time it starts "swimming in the sea" and relates back to language, I get a hint at what's being discussed, which in a sense I think is good that it occurs that late, but maybe I'm just slow, heh. The parenthesis section bounces off each sucessive line quite well, namely by using less indirect terms such as the "sat... like... just" start offs to each section as an opposition to "how" which only begs the question, that is then sort of answered by the parenthetical remarks.

The ending is pretty interesting if only for its run from "I" into "My" which centers my mind on something more possessive of the mind that has only been spoken about indirectly and inside of throughout the piece.

Overall I like it quite a bit, but saw you wanted some critique, so there went a few paragraphs of dissection. Good use of mixing forms of language though, surprising how many are just shuffled in there as forms without noticing.
synthwrr Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2006
Wow thanks so much for reading! I never expected such a critique, it looks like you put a lot of time into it :blushes: You saw stuff in it that I didn't even see, certainly not consciously. I really need to learn to read like you do. And thanks for the fav and the add. :D

By the way, your sig quote is great. To the extent I understand it, that is :D

I shall surf your gallery, if I may...

P.S. What do you mean by forms of language?
dyrwen Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2006  Hobbyist Writer
Heh, tonguetied there. By forms of language I meant "forms" as in literary forms. Since you've a bit of free association, free verse, visual poetry through the tabbing about, dialogues of a kind that are mixed through different perspective'd writing. It may have just been the varying points of view that I kept reading into the work, since it kept jumping around the page depending on its formatting.

Twas just something different than what I'm used to: usually very definite forms (sonnet, acrostics, n+7 codings, etc) and yours felt like it had many without having to have any formal structures in it.

You're welcome though.. Just tend to scan a lot of work, so if I see something I like that wants critique, might as well give what I can to help ya out eh?
synthwrr Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2006
:D thanks again.
velnon Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2006
I like the placement of the words...but the blunt parts seem out of place with the surreal metaphors. I don't know...I liked it, though it started to ramble. Keep Writing yo!
synthwrr Featured By Owner Nov 25, 2006
Hm you're right, I didn't realize it rambles at the end... Thanks for pointing that out. I don't think I'll change it though. Blunt parts? Surreal parts? Hahah I guess I want to keep readers on their feet... But again, I didn't really consciously recognize that.

I shall cruise your gallery.
CaptainQuirk Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2006
This has got a really interesting structure. I was kind of surprised to read in the description that this sad and wistful story is about writing poetry itself. It's interesting cuz I was just studying a professional poem about the very same thing. If you're interested, it's called "Dejection: An Ode" by S. T. Coleridge. It's not as modern as yours (cuz it's a few centuries old), but the heart is the same.
synthwrr Featured By Owner Nov 25, 2006
I Googled that, and... Wow. See, poems like that were the reason I used to hate poetry. It's about writing eh? Wow so confused.

The poem is sort of about writing poetry. Certainly not entirely though.
FridgePoetry Featured By Owner Nov 21, 2006
Another stunning peice of writing. I have lots to say about it, but I do not seem to be able to put it in words!
Deblackraven Featured By Owner Nov 13, 2006   Writer
insanity, I love it. It's just so crazy and and it flows so nicely.
mayai Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2006   Writer
I do not know that it is missing anything (referring to a comment of yours). I may follow with a more in-depth critique shortly, but I wanted to say this is truly a wonderful piece of work. Though, I did not at all take from it the intended meaning you had (rereading, I can see it more clearly).

The meaning I took away was one of maturing and well, the more literal interpretations of wanting companionship, before knowing what it would feel like - but I suppose since such things dominate my current thoughts that would affect my interpretations of things >.<

I really cannot find anything critical to say about this, there was no point at which I stopped in reading and said "hrm," or failed to follow the flow. I'm a miserable critiquer, I know >.< But as a reader, it was very nice! +fav, and all that.
synthwrr Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2006
:) Thanks so much for reading, and for the fav. You're absolutely right, this poem isn't entirely about not wanting to write poetry anymore-- it isn't even really about it at *all*, in fact. Except in the sense that I started writing it with that in mind, but... yeah.

It's amazing how many kindred spirits are to be found on deviantART-- I've been thinking about exactly what you said *you* were.

You're an excellent critiquer. Thank you so much for reading.
Kalimey Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2006  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
it's hard to say exactly what i think of this, because im not sure yet^_^ in any case, over all, it has a really good flow to it. not only in how the words are grouped, but it happens in an order that makes sense. like a story progressing. it works well, and I just cant stop reading it. its INTERESTING to read. like a good book.
once again, i am amazed by your talent!
synthwrr Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2006
:) Thanks so much.
It's missing something though....
Kalimey Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2006  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
missing something? i fail to see that.
synthwrr Featured By Owner Nov 12, 2006
:shrug: Can't put my finger on it. Oh well. Another poem, another day, new words, new thoughts. Live goes on.
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