2007-01-24 Nightshadow: Hmm...the first verse, love, looks forced into rhyming, "agree" and (also the only mixed-up grammar in teh poem) "pierce deeply me". Maybe consider breaking the rhyme? I like the first line of those less, although the grammar of the second is off-putting and may merit revision. Beautiful, beautiful imagery, though, it's the strong point of the poem. 2007-01-24 Mister Saint: *considers* Hmm... *thinkses* Good points, angel, merry good... I shall think of how to fix it up! Thank you! 2007-02-02 seemoreglass48: Hmmm...actuall 2007-02-02 Mister Saint: By all means. Actually, the doom thing was an accident of sorts. It kinda fit in my head, and afterwards I realized "Oh... doom, doom, doom, sounds like timpani drums."[Mister Saint]: 79.Poetry.The Spilling Ants
Rating: 0.45
“The Spilling Ants”
Love is like a red, red rose.
This filth I must uphold.
A wicker man of god damned rose.
Of gore-soaked thorn,
And bloody bloom,
And doom, and doom, and doom.
Wet lines glower, raging,
Slashing forward like a line of ants.
Ants arriving, ants despising,
Lines of fire ants
Marching softly
Like broken drums of war.
The ants boil forth like rabid froth
And drip, drip down my arm.
A hazy fate enfolds them,
Black, like ashes of
A burned-down church
Or mosque, engulfed in flame.
Doom, doom, doom
The red drums thunder on.
Fire ants spatter to the floor.
Thickly, darkly, sickly splatter.
Like morning murders night
Your love has slaughtered me,
And all my ants
Have gone.
Upon my floor the ants disperse.
Wilting,
Gasping outward.
Like a dead, red rose.