Here's one of my most recent poems that I've written. Any constructive criticism is welcome, please give reasoning for your thoughts though.
For my father.
Tears flowed as if from the clouds,
My heart strings were plucked by the mighty one.
A tune more beautiful than a freshly picked rose,
Delusions of a perfect world, memories of times gone by,
All darted through my mind,
Cracking the discomfort, that had formed inside of me.
As he’d left, I’d wept as if the world,
Was coming to an end, it wasn’t worth living in.
Nothing left except frayed fragile nerves,
And displaced hearts.
Known as a man of education and religion,
He’d left his eminence in a world where he cannot be.
The curtains closed around his body,
The end of an era, the beginning of a new chapter.
I was left with only my heart and mind,
Everything I tried to clear my head failed, pictures continued to appear,
As if from nowhere, images of a man and a train,
Flashed before me, nothing could rid them from my heart.
Memories became important from that day,
Everything I faced I saw in a different light.
Treasuring the entirety of all that I did,
Appreciating the life and freedom I’d been given.
Precious memories,
Of a simplistic, idyllic world,
Left behind,
For evermore.
Tim Peacock
16/11/05
Copyright ©2005
If you want me to crit any of your work after you've criticised mine, please leave a link
Cheers
Tim
For my father.
Tears flowed as if from the clouds,
My heart strings were plucked by the mighty one.
A tune more beautiful than a freshly picked rose,
Delusions of a perfect world, memories of times gone by,
All darted through my mind,
Cracking the discomfort, that had formed inside of me.
As he’d left, I’d wept as if the world,
Was coming to an end, it wasn’t worth living in.
Nothing left except frayed fragile nerves,
And displaced hearts.
Known as a man of education and religion,
He’d left his eminence in a world where he cannot be.
The curtains closed around his body,
The end of an era, the beginning of a new chapter.
I was left with only my heart and mind,
Everything I tried to clear my head failed, pictures continued to appear,
As if from nowhere, images of a man and a train,
Flashed before me, nothing could rid them from my heart.
Memories became important from that day,
Everything I faced I saw in a different light.
Treasuring the entirety of all that I did,
Appreciating the life and freedom I’d been given.
Precious memories,
Of a simplistic, idyllic world,
Left behind,
For evermore.
Tim Peacock
16/11/05
Copyright ©2005
If you want me to crit any of your work after you've criticised mine, please leave a link
Cheers
Tim