Honestly,
I have never spoken truer
than under streetlights
(what you made me call illumination).
I have been your ascetic monk.
I have learned your hedonism
I have twisted Death's ear,
bade him to
fuck
off
(he called my parents--the next day
my dad coughed long
and I apologized)
I understand
that I am not the demon
(there are far harsher hells).
But few have as I have
wandered so deep in the wood
as to lose their pen
and rip pages from childhood's notebooks
to stick between skeleton branches
trying to find
a way back in
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4 comments:
I love this Bernard, the tone, the style, how you tell death to fuck off, and he calls your parents, (BEST!) I especially like the last stanza ...wandered so deep in the wood as to lose their pen and rip pages from childhood's notebooks to stick between skeleton branches trying to find a way back in...
Um. Oh my goodness?
Bernard writing darkness and *not* flowery language. You, sir, can officially do both. This is just plain awesome. It cuts so quickly from one line to the next, to the next, it's all just so fast in succession. It reminds me of I Have Found in that sense, but it's just so much more jagged. It's bitter, through and through. Loves.
Loves everything that has to do with Death, twisting his ear? Oh my goodness.
And 'I have learned your hedonism' really speaks to me, really really. I don't know why.
For some reason this reminds me of Mike's writing - the stuff in parentheses and the "bade him to / fuck / off". It's bizarre that you wrote this - but absolutely WONDERFUL! It makes me really happy :) Basically everything Tabia said. I am very jealous that you can write such opposite spectrum stuff equally well. You are officially an incredible writer (though we all knew that before :P)
"Honestly,
I have never spoken truer
than under streetlights
(what you made me call illumination)."
I really like that part. It's so wonderful and sets the tone so well, just spilling this moment of inner truth and realization and the person admitting it to themself - which ties into the end, at least how I see it, in how the person finally realizes that there's a world you can't go back into (childhood), and accepting that. It's beautifully written, so poignant.
I hate commenting after other people; they always steal my words.
The whole last stanza grips me, in particular, especially the line about childhood's notebooks.
I really like the disjointed feel of it - each stanza seems to have its own intrinsic meaning separate from the rest of the poem while still working in the grand scheme of the message.
And the feeling of nostalgia that comes with it - so achingly beautiful.
I greatly, GREATLY approve of this piece.
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