What you did to me was beautiful.

You made me a picture to put on the wall of my mind.
You fed me lies that I placed my faith in
I trusted the smile on your face.

You sang songs and told me to believe
the lyrics would be true for me, if
only I would dream them true.

I read stroies with you
and discussed the merits of each.
I held out
despite my fearing soul

After all-
I never EVER had much to lose.
You said you like the things I liked
You heard the words I heard
Spoke the words I spoke

You gave me something to believe in
An illusion that made me believe life MATTERED

You spoke such pretty words to my heart
and you promised something you NEVER meant

And so

when HELL came to my soul

I knew...
I knew you'd leave too.


It was no secret, my friend
because even in this I can forgive you of all.

I made you all you were to me
like some charm against my demon soul
some answer for the screaming
some statement of happiness.

Useless banter.
Screaming doesn't help, and it NEVER will.

Still, I can go numb over anything and everything.


but still, sometimes in the dead of night
i awake
and tears
stream down
my face.  -- i can't imagine why.

I did not ASK to be
All these horrid things I see
I did not want to be
Everything I have come to be



"You never let me down
 because i never let you in"

oh, Such a lie such a god damned lie
i bet my salvation on you
hoping i'd actually find something true

i was mistaken, of COURSE, because
there is no truth to find
except
the never-ending torture
of
all that is

And i have been Used by Everything
like some sort of temporary toy
and my fiftenn seconds of brilliance
came
went
and is gone.

So I can moan the useless wish
I can pray for the End of Everything
to come down on me.


I build again.

I'm the corrupted Angel of Everything
And my dreams are beyond us
I don't know what they meant, or mean.

You could not Fathom me
I'm too fake to be anything
anything but
Death and Pain

I've been Used by Eternity

And nod I'd like very much please
to take something back...


                For Me.


Gerald E. Peck
11-26-94
2:22:45 PM

28 responses total.

now not nod
damn it.  i can't even cry in peace

Geeze... even MORE typos.  Shit.

ENOUGH WITH THE BAD BORING DEPRESSING FREE VERSE ALREADY.
I don't mind free verse, but this?  These depressing little
bits of psychobabble are all i've seen on this .cf in far to long.
let's have some real writing, por favor!

Thank you very much.  Oh... Fuck you.

Orinico:
(1)  If you don't like it (f)orget it.  You don't have to read it.
(2)  If you want some real writing (as you call it), why don't you 
post some?  Don't piss on other people.

Look, I'm sorry... I guess i was wrong in assuming I could post a
picture of my nightmares in public.
I'm also ETERNALLY sorry that i can't write that fluffy trash about
daffodils.

I don't like fluffy trash about daffodills either.  I just think
you don't need to go to either extreme.  Sorry 'bout my outburst, but
it gets a little irritating that we seem to have been seing too much
of the extremes recently.  I plan to (f)orget this item, and all others
like it, immediately.

How utterly rude.

Daniel, the custom here is to discuss things, good or bad, but if
you really don't want any more, forget it without comment. At least,
I suggest that. De gustibus non disputandum est.

Boy... I've gone and done it this time.

All you did, gerund, was enter a poem. It's the chickens that are
squabbling.(or, should that be doves squabbling?).

Actually, I was talking about more than just the poem, but I guess I
really shouldn't feel bad about entering a poem in a writing conference.
Not everybody will like everything.

That's about what I said in #9 - in latin. Its a famous quotation,
from long ago.

Bad pseudo, orin!  Bad pseudo!

Hmmm... how's my latin?  It looks like:  Taste cannot be argued.

Its usually translated as "There is no disputing taste", but your
translation is just as good. 

actually, Gerund, that's some of your better work.  A little polishing 
wouldn't hurt, but just a little. the hard part is to declare it done and
set it loose so you can see it as a poem rather than a bit of your soul you
left out in the cold.

One question.\
Why are people talking to me, when I said that I had forgotten this item?
I didn't, actually, but how could you know that?

Kami, I can never see anything I create as anything other than me 
children, even after years...  I can let them go as pieces in the 
present (something like being "pieces of my soul"), but I can never
seem them as just poems and stories.

I suppose, me either, but there's a point where one can look at the content
without feeling too exposed or can accept costructive criticism on the
work without feeling that the reader is missing the point.

better work huh?
Why is it  have to almost spell things in black and white before it's
any good?  why do i have to let go?  maybe i'd rather just yell about it
for a while.  or mourn.  i dunno.

I think houses should come equipped with rubber rooms and paper shredders
so we can vent in peace and not have it come back to haunt us.  I'm just
not fond of needlessly cryptic writing with weak form or form that had
overtaken content.  Not accusing you, just bitching in general about a lot
of modern verse and free-form writing.
You don't have to let go, unless you want a life and material other people
can enjoy, or to enjoy sharing it with them.

You're not very good at being subtle, are you?

I guess I'm only starting to learn that when it comes to writing 'poems'
that most of what I write is going to be so cryptic and wrapped up
in my own little world of perceptions that it's probably only worth will
to me.

<hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!  separate corners, you two!>
I hate to see people I love fighting 'twixt themselves.

There are pieces that I can share with others for criticism; there are 
others that I'm willing to share, but I'd really rather not have the 
criticism (the poem I posted here, in another item, is an example);
there are others that are all mine.

I assume that pieces posted in writing are for our enjoyment, but not our
criticism, unless the author specifically says, "So, what do you think?"

Maybe I'm mistaken in this assumption, but that's how I approach this conf.

oops, I'll try to remember that, Brighn.  I tend to assume people wouldn't
put stuff here if they didn't want reactions.
I
am not TRYING to be subtle.  I don't get MOST poetry becuase of the bloody
cryptic archness.  But then, I never understood most ballet, jazz or
classical music.  I like clear lyrics, simple music, and understandible
dialog on stage.
Simple pleasures for simple minds, I guess.

*chuckle*  I don't generally like to READ arcane or cryptic poetry,
unless it has a certain euphonic je ne sais quoi, but I love to WRITE it.
It doesn't have to make sense if it has the right mood or sond to it.
(I'm talking in general here, Gerund, not about your poetry... I don't
find yours cryptic at all.)

Been there, huh?

Well I've always thought that poetry was the art of whining on about something.
I'd rather be subtle than just come out and say:

I feel like I got screwed over by someone I trusted.

Not too poetic now, is it?

i feel gerund has a VERY good poem in hte beginning... i almost never cry, and
i almost cried on it!  well, if that guy who dissed gerund thinks that his was
depressing i have one for him...: As i watched you walk away, I realized that
there was no other answer... I picked up the gun out of my bag lying by my feet
on the ground, placed it against my head, cried out your name, and pulled the
trigger when you turned  to see why i cried your name out.

depressing enough??
sorry, folks, but i just had to get that out... hope you like the content,
tho...

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