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Burned Anger

by Walter Jones (Age: 67)
copyright 05-10-2004


Age Rating: 18 +

Whispers in the wind
All the love with in
For the world is a better place
Screaming demons on the pit
Crying child with out wit
I know the cost of being me
Child of mercy heaven knows
Last of world’s wind that blows
Where is that you will stay
Cry out for the right of life
Free of greed
Daughter of mother's seed
Touch the multitude
Just a short ride bode
I know your wisdom I can see
Painted lady in flight
Gospel of the night
Blood and fiction light
It is not who but what you know
Standing in line
You will weather this time
Damn you are good that has
Been understood since the day
You were born
Flesh and soul sacrifice
Slow the death fast the knife
Just one or two drops of blood
Which the holy stone father gone
Now you are alone
Careful list you trip on a stone
How many angels will come
To bare you up back to your throne
Child of night careful with the stake
Slender be the sacrificial knife
White the face death under the life
Once you wander in the sand of grief
There is never relief only a cold heart
That burns upon the skin to bone
Eyes finally close safe in the arms
You enter home and cry for the lie
That lives with you in side a closed mind






Visitor Reads: 1157
Total Reads: 1184
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        11-16-2009     Eric Siedzikowski        

I was totally drawn into this masterfully written
diamond of a poem that has still been shining,I do not think that it matters where the poem dwells,how many people read it,or have read it,
how many people commented on it,if they like or dislike.There are a lot of poems that have been
written by Lord Tennyson,Chaucer,Poe,and the list goes on and on,that have never been read.
Pieces of poetry are snowflakes that cover the mountain of time.Sincerely,Eric

        06-20-2008     Frank Fields        

There are some things about the writers'/poets' community that I will never understand. Eleven member reads is all, in all this time. Well, I hadn't read it either. Still, that's not the point. Not the point at all. In all this time only 1 comment.

Many years, many reads, but only the one comment to offer that it was being read, had been read. I know, it's nigh impossible to read everything by everyone, but it occurs that without some kind of commentary, how is a smith to know if his trade (and skill and talent) is properly being applied?

Even if a writer writes primarily for him/herself, or even exclusively for him/herself, how is the value of his/her work to be gauged? If that were so, then the writer could just spend all day at the typewriter or keyboard and not be troubled with the opinions--good or bad--of his peers.

Your work is unique--as I'd like to think that everyone's is. Your work is difficult to interpret; that is, it may not have an obvious meaning jump right out. And very often, more often than not, as a matter of my fact, you will weave and intertwine so many different threads into your tapestries, that it's sometimes difficult to follow one weaving from beginning to end.

Still, even if that were all that a reader received from your works--this once included--I would have thought that their voice(s) would have been heard. Apparently not.

So, here we sit, four years later, without my having personal benefit and experience of the events of those years, but still ranting on and on. I apologize.

I liked this work also. It's powerful, dynamic, filled with imagery and emotional impacts that are second to none. Your use of the language has a master's touch and I'm fortunate to have been able to read your works.

Frank :)

        07-06-2004     Mary -BrytEyz- Ball        

I'm more intrigued with every poem of yours I read. Your style is unique and your thoughts often profound.

...I know the cost of being me... I like that.



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