We Notice...

We Notice...

A Poem by behind.the.lights
"

Something that refused to leave me alone until I got it down...

"

Everything was covered. Coated in fine, white powder; subtley crushed chalk; undetected cocaine; powdered sugar. So dellicate, so beautiful, so addictive. As to be dangerous. The color and shading os a moth's wings smudged onto your finger. The purest off white you've ever known.

So dense. Sticking to the air like humiditiy itself, sufforcating. It was as if 16,139,000 moths just lost the right to fly. Their freedom, their independence, their life. As to be gone. It's more humane, right? Of course. That's how this society works. We kill.

We kill the humane, silent way. Nothing. No Thing. No, No One. No One thinks to scream. Mute as a moth. That's how this society lives. Thousands of our dead skin cells being rubbed off by some larger monster.

But we will be known. Scattered among the grass to be stepped upon, among the clouds to be caught by drifting wings, and clumbed together in rivers to sail rough ocean storms. There is strength in movement. And there is strength in silence.

Pairs of shoes will tread through these, our stories and remains and memories, and carry them mile upon mile until someone notices. All the screamless deaths and decaying injustice. You may make up with the subtle ashy burnings of homemade cigerettes, but do not think we are so naive and flimsy.

As to not notice? It is our death, after all, our soul, out skin, our stories, our lives. Our demise. And we notice. We may be bound to death but that doesn't make us any less caustious of it. We tend to keep track of when we die.

We notice the soft white falling flakes of powder. How could we not? So dense. Suffocating the air with beads of frozen life hung by strings. The purest off white you've ever known. And we notice the purity, the stories, the art. It's art in death. Breathing life. Breathing the moments in Picaso's mind too ellaborate to capture. We notice.


© 2011 behind.the.lights



Author's Note

behind.the.lights
Not quite a poem, more like poetic prose(?). Not sure. Piece currently under a lot of scrutiny and reformation. Attempting to try both reforming into a poem and an essay of sorts. Will post when done.

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Featured Review

I like your avant-garde style. But the imagery just doesn't surmount to anything. "It was as if 16,139,000 moths" is just too awkwardly specific. And the little things, too. Like: "Their freedom, their independence, their life. As to be gone." would be a whole lot stronger if instead you replace "as to be gone" with just "gone." But, don't get me wrong. There is some great great material here. I LOVE this line: "Scattered among the grass to be stepped upon, among the clouds to be caught by drifting wings, and clumbed together in rivers to sail rough ocean storms." The imagery incorporates symbols and takes me on a fascinating journey through a sort of individualized universal truth. It is awesome. But there are lines here that could, honestly, be taken out. Consider " That's how this society lives." Instead of saying that, you would be better off with just "Society." Make the reader do some work--this is poetry, not academic prose.

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

The work on the whole is something that reminds me of endless sonnets that hold more emotion than most true confessions.

Posted 4 Years Ago


I like your avant-garde style. But the imagery just doesn't surmount to anything. "It was as if 16,139,000 moths" is just too awkwardly specific. And the little things, too. Like: "Their freedom, their independence, their life. As to be gone." would be a whole lot stronger if instead you replace "as to be gone" with just "gone." But, don't get me wrong. There is some great great material here. I LOVE this line: "Scattered among the grass to be stepped upon, among the clouds to be caught by drifting wings, and clumbed together in rivers to sail rough ocean storms." The imagery incorporates symbols and takes me on a fascinating journey through a sort of individualized universal truth. It is awesome. But there are lines here that could, honestly, be taken out. Consider " That's how this society lives." Instead of saying that, you would be better off with just "Society." Make the reader do some work--this is poetry, not academic prose.

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

416 Views
2 Reviews
Rating
Added on November 27, 2011
Last Updated on December 3, 2011
Tags: no one, humane, feet, smudges, wings, monster, powder, snow, silence, movement, notice, death, skin, moth