I'm being killed off
and a recycle bin graveyard
is my destination. In five
short years, you somehow became
too good for me. You will recycle
the part made of trees
and may see me again in the form
of a bench, an egg carton, or a dress
swaying at a green fashion show.
But what once was painted words
of art are now blotted stains
of immaturity. And you can't
find a concrete reason to save me.
How are you being killed off? What happened in the five short years? You could place a stanza or two about certain moments in those five years.
ReplyDeleteWhat part is the part made of trees? I don't know what the recycle-made products are representing here. I actually am not sure what's going on.
What was once painted words of art? What words were they and how were they art? In what way are they blotted now? Why immaturity? A few(bunch) of questions to think about. I'm interested here, but there's a lot to expand upon and make more concrete here. :)
-Kyle
It isn't a person... I was hoping the title would explain. It's old poems I wrote when I was a lot younger that are being thrown away... If that is made clear more in the actual poem rather then just leaving it to the title would the questions be answered?
ReplyDeleteI didn't even look at the title hahaha But the fact remains that these poems are speaking outside of the words they've been written with - Because the poems are the speaker, there is something human about them that is being portrayed. At least I think so haha :P
ReplyDeleteThat could definitely be made more clear. However, those five years and the art/immaturity could be made more concrete, as I still don't really understand what happened in those five years - yes childhood poems, when looking back on them, are definitely immature, but how so?