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#262301 - 11/17/08 07:03 PM Young boys soul
pl1961 Offline


Registered: 11/14/08
Posts: 9
Loc: ohio
Winter,
Everything outside looks cold, Dead.
Cold and Dead like the 7 year old boys soul.
The soul you saw and recognized as vulnerable,
Then you swooped down like a vulture, To pick at the soul,
Pick Pick Pick. one piece at a time for 7 years,
Until Nothing is left, Nothing but a dark empty void.
The void into which you throw everything you stole.
Innocence, Childhood, The promise of a bright tomarrow.
The void like a black hole, from which nothing can escape,
Not even pain, shame, Screams, nothing.
The void now inside the man, 40 years later
The man who hangs on by the thinnest sliver of hope,
Hope that he will one day see the light of spring.
Feel the sun kiss his cheek, see the flowers, grass and trees grow.
Perhaps to cover the void that was the soul of the boy.
But the man knows that that day is far far away.
For today he is stuck, stuck looking into the void.

Ok this is the first poem I have ever written.
I have been literally awake for 4 days now and this morning this just popped into my head. I didnt know I could do poetry.
I was always to macho to do poetry. guess I am getting over that. so let me know what you think.


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#262335 - 11/17/08 08:46 PM Re: Young boys soul [Re: pl1961]
Fissy Tsickens Offline
Member
MaleSurvivor

Registered: 09/23/08
Posts: 466
Loc: Bassett, Virginia
Hey, pl1961.

For me, this is an excellent poem. Very meaningful. I love the simily, "swooped down like a vulture to pick at the soul, pick, pick,pick, pick." Thanks for sharing.

Peace,

John

_________________________
Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home Iíll never see

It may sound absurd...but donít be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed...but wonít you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
Itís not easy to be me

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#262414 - 11/18/08 02:31 AM Re: Young boys soul [Re: pl1961]
petercorbett Offline
Member
MaleSurvivor

Registered: 07/27/08
Posts: 2452
Loc: TEXAS
Hi, pl1961, you have pretty much said it all, it surely is about us lost boys, and the hope for us getting out of that void. Heal well my friend.
Pete (Irishmoose)

_________________________
Working Boys' Home 10-14 yrs old, grades 5-8. 1949-1953
____________________________________________________________
A very humble alumni of the WOR Dahlonega, GA.
May 15-17 2009, Alta, Sep. 2009. Sequoia, 2010.
Hope Springs, 2010.


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#262430 - 11/18/08 07:28 AM Re: Young boys soul [Re: petercorbett]
roadrunner Offline
Administrator Emeritus
MaleSurvivor

Registered: 05/02/05
Posts: 22045
Loc: Carlisle, PA
pl1961,

Good job on your first poem! You're right about how macho interferes with guys getting interested in poetry. Can you think of why that barrier exists?

Much love,
Larry

_________________________
Nobody living can ever stop me
As I go walking my freedom highway.
Nobody living can make me turn back:
This land was made for you and me.
(Woody Guthrie)

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#262486 - 11/18/08 03:46 PM Re: Young boys soul [Re: roadrunner]
pl1961 Offline


Registered: 11/14/08
Posts: 9
Loc: ohio
Hi larry

thanks for the compliment.
I guess men think of poetry as female, something teenage girls wright in the journals. I would guess most men think of poetry as that (roses are red, violets are blue) stuff. I confess to thinking that way. I really have no idea where this one came from, but I am glad I had a place to share it.

pl


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#263242 - 11/22/08 07:08 PM Re: Young boys soul [Re: pl1961]
roadrunner Offline
Administrator Emeritus
MaleSurvivor

Registered: 05/02/05
Posts: 22045
Loc: Carlisle, PA
pl,

Yes, I think so too. What I had in mind is the fact that poetry is an excellent way of expressing feelings and emotions, whereas guys learn from boyhood that they are supposed to be tough, in control, "suck it up", don't cry, etc. Writing poetry here helps us to see what nonsense that expectation is.

Much love,
Larry

_________________________
Nobody living can ever stop me
As I go walking my freedom highway.
Nobody living can make me turn back:
This land was made for you and me.
(Woody Guthrie)

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