Young Writers Society

There's nothing worse than empty light, I know;
that flame on your fingertips that doesn't feel alive.
The words in your mouth are pleas,
stuck in the rivets under your tongue where they die to a sob,
unheard by the ones you didn't know were listening.
You never paid them much mind, anyway.
They're all asking you the same thing, anyways;
Why would you think that relief is immediate?
New life wouldn't be as stunning if its existence wasn't so carefully formed;
and formations that take time to create always come up with the least flaws.

Even so, you want the stars to mourn this loss- the loss of your hope
and the loss of your will-
because these beasts you once called people will never understand.
And what of the Holy Being that holds all of those stars
so gingerly between the lines of His fingertips?
What of the God who sits in the Heavens?
The One you were so sure that you could believe in?
He's close enough to catch the wisps of the trail of your breath;
He's holding up this slab of granite and corrupted diamond for you-
what you're holding yourself is dead.
What you're holding yourself is something that you haven't realized
that you can let go of.

I'll never be more than human, my friend,
but I'll pry the beast, already decaying, from your fingertips and from your neck,
from your heart and tongue and mind.
I'll wait with you, under the security of your very own roof,
and even if you're afraid of the shrieks of the wind outside, screaming at you
to let it find its way in,
I'll keep reminding you that you're safe between these walls,
crafted purely from something so tastefully intangible.
I'll keep reminding you that your solutions all come,
layered in a blanket of smog and a sheet of things that you don't understand,
and that they come piece by confusion-shrouded piece.
It isn't, after all, immediate.

Keep it in your heart that,
if the shadows bleed into the skin under your eyes,
and if the pain comes and goes with the red on your arms,
that the red in my heart and the shadows beneath my lids will grow with yours,
Even if only to assure you that you'll never throb alone.
And perhaps my tears will flood the self-inflicted dips and arches
etched into your precious skin- and perhaps you'll be blessed with the knowledge that
I'm right here, and that my eyes are leaking saltwater with you.

And please; I'll keep praying that this
metaphorical knife, embedded in your chest, never becomes
Real.

Because,
my friend,
I'd hurt if you were gone.

First of all I love your title!!!

Beautiful... Nothing I would change and I can't find any mistakes

unheard by the ones you never thought were listening.

This line is awkward to read, and it's a bit confusing. These ones "you" never thought were listening, was it because "you" was unaware of them listening, or because "you" felt they were ignoring him? If it's intended to have a double meaning, it's in need of some tweaking to make it read less awkwardly.

"unheard by the ones you never knew listened" is one possibility.

Even so, you want the stars to mourn this loss- the loss of your hope
and the loss of your will-
because these beasts you once called people will never understand.

And this was the point where I started tearing up. And if this poem is about what I think it's about, you need to give your friend a hug from me RIGHT NOW.

No that was not a request. ;P

But yeah... aside from that line, there really isn't much else I can say about this piece except I think you're worrying too much about it not being so great. It's really obvious you wrote this from the bottom of your heart, and that's all that really matters. I wasn't particularly fond of the "I'll keep reminding you that you're safe between these redemption-laced walls." line, and it struck me as being a bit ham-handed, but at the same time, it still felt necessary. Totally unhelpful comment, but if you could somehow tie in the redemption = protection bit a bit less bludgeon-y fashion, it would make that stanza feel much smoother and less in-your-face.

After all, getting all in someone's face isn't exactly the best way to show one's support and care.

'Lo there Ish. 301st right here. And I apologize in advance if I completely bomb this review since I'm, like, crap at poetry reviews. 8D

Right. I'm also glad you posted this after my nagging c:

I couldn't find a whole lot since I'm no great poet and thus I struggle to find things to be fixed. However:

I'll keep reminding you that you're safe between these redemption-laced walls.

For some reason, I didn't much like this line. It's probably the 'redemption-laced walls' part. Personally, I find it a clunky three words and it really breaks up how the poem's been being read previously. It's all smooth and then clunk, three ugly words. Beforehand, you have an excellent stance with your vocabulary and it works really well. Nothing too simple, nothing to extravagant, which I always admire. But when I came to this part (redemption-laced walls), it felt slightly forced or like you couldn't quite find the perfect words. Incidentally, I can't think of these perfect words myself. But. Like. Yeah. I find these three words so boring compared to how you write for the rest of the poem. It just doesn't work with how you've set up everything so far.

And, as promised, favourite lines:

And what of the Holy Being that holds all of those stars
so gingerly between the lines of His fingertips?
What of the God who sits in the Heavens?
The One you were so sure that you could believe in?
He's close enough to catch the wisps of the trail of your breath;
He's holding up this slab of granite and corrupted diamond for you-

You know well enough now that I'm hardly religious but I seriously loved these lines and probably because of the questions that aren't really questions. It's just so beautiful and tender and honest. I don't know, but I loved these lines.

I apologize for the crappy review.

I blame you since you bullied me into it. <3

Yours,
Lavvers

I loved your poem. The way you described both the narrator and the friend was unique. I liked how it seemed kind of abstract and had metaphor after metaphor. I also liked your title, it summed up your poem perfectly. The pain of the friend really comes through and captures the readers attention. I especially liked this line:

New life wouldn't be as stunning if its existence wasn't so carefully formed;

This is so true.
An awesome poem.

This was a definite back and forth in my books.

First and foremost, I want to note on that first stanza because its that stanza that made this sort of flip-flop about. If you haven't already guessed, I'm not a huge fan of it. After all, though it is touching on some very deep and troubling emotions, its rather upfront. The imagery lacks because the pain is too thick for metaphors and when you do make comparisons, they feel lackluster and almost overly dramatic in retrospect. For instance;

stuck in the rivets under your tongue where they die to a sob,
unheard by the ones you didn't know were listening.

Sounds a little whishy-washy, as if trying to draw out the emotion. Make it seem even more real than it is, but the action of it all is sort of a waste, as if you're trying to patter your space away like prose. And even in prose, lines like those would be a little over the top. A 'okay, everybody has problems. What makes yours any worse than anyone else's?', and I guarantee the last thing you wanted to do with this poem was make us sort of roll our eyes at the person in question.

And that's really the extent of the bad. The rest was wonderful.

Though I can't say I'm a huge fan of the whole beast imagery, and some of it felt overly superficial in hind-sight, you still managed to bring your point up and prove it almost to a point where that first stanza becomes rendered absolutely unnecessary. And it is. It really is.

But the stars, the mourning loss, the God in which he/she questions, its all very real and very stunning. And emotional. Something that we can connect to as readers, which is so very important. Mostly, though, I thought it really beautiful. In particular;

I'll wait with you, under the security of your very own roof,
and even if you're afraid of the shrieks of the wind outside, screaming at you
to let it find its way in,
I'll keep reminding you that you're safe between these walls,
crafted purely from something so tastefully intangible

By far the best part of this poem.

Now, the last real bit of criticism I do have is to try and cut down on the cutting. I realize the idea of this poem is to show that self-hate, but you take this poem from sadness to teen angst. Cutting is not something to joke about, I'm sure, but self-inflicted pain is so overly done in poetry and in acts of gaining pity. It's so attention seeking and so forwardly pushed into the faces of everyone who cares that they start losing the ability to do even that. Its a cry for attention, and this poem does not need it to make its point clear.

You have a lot of talent, diction-wise. A lot of talent that I want to see cultivated and continued on. Its a matter of getting past that little ounce of superficiality that will definitely boost this up (if you care to edit), or merely you as a writer, if you can grasp the idea of poetry that does not try and create pity. And this is something I felt the need to say 'oh, poor dear' rather than feeling some form of a connection.

You have quite a bit of talent, though, and that's probably why I kind of jumped on this in the way I did. I think you can handle my criticism, though.

~Walker