Post by darcy on Oct 10, 2006 18:10:57 GMT -8
I'm hoping to submit this to my school's literary magazine, so after all the revising I've done, I hope it's decent. Really the only feedback I've gotten for it is that it's too wordy, and I can understand that. Is there any possible way you fine people could possibly help trim down/rephrase/cut out anything at all without taking the meaning from it? There are a few stanzas that I feel I could do without. Really, I'm looking for it to flow smoothly, so any suggestions at all would really be appreciated.
So where can we go from here?
We find ourselves down the rabbit hole
with not a key to give a turn to the knob.
It seems we cannot escape into
the twisted images of reality on the other side of the door.
The bushes have grown weary of tireless beatings
from helpings of empty anger.
Time has taken sweet revenge on my poor soul,
and you lack what is need to face any foreboding adversary.
It's much simpler to paint my white roses red
in an attempt to cover up your mistakes.
The path leading us to a past happiness is long and winding,
but I began on a rough speed bump
and someone keeps pressing rewind and fast-forward
on my little television screen.
The sting of this paper cut never seems to go away,
and the bandage won't stick forever.
Our battle scars will heal with time,
but you have made deep wounds in my heart that I just cannot ignore.
I am nothing to you, and now I doubt I was ever anything more..
Now your anger has yellowed like fading newsprint.
Just tear it to pieces and throw it away.
Oh musician strumming melancholy chords of woe,
pack up your bankrupt guitar case and head home.
Leave the rose to wilt on the sidewalk
under the step of deaf people blinded by their own troubles.
The consequences fo this normality crack like a whip,
and the fantasy of Wonderland is lost
in the remnants of a shattered looking glass.
The white-washed walls of a cell take form,
and I'm held captive in a silent world of black and white,
a prisoner of muted emotions.
Empty words beat on the window ina storm of sympathy,
run down the glass and fall into a sea of lost naivety.
So this is what the rabbit hole hides,
how it differs from its "classic" counterpart.
This is no dream, only what we must face.
How jealous of Alice we are.
So where can we go from here?
We find ourselves down the rabbit hole
with not a key to give a turn to the knob.
It seems we cannot escape into
the twisted images of reality on the other side of the door.
The bushes have grown weary of tireless beatings
from helpings of empty anger.
Time has taken sweet revenge on my poor soul,
and you lack what is need to face any foreboding adversary.
It's much simpler to paint my white roses red
in an attempt to cover up your mistakes.
The path leading us to a past happiness is long and winding,
but I began on a rough speed bump
and someone keeps pressing rewind and fast-forward
on my little television screen.
The sting of this paper cut never seems to go away,
and the bandage won't stick forever.
Our battle scars will heal with time,
but you have made deep wounds in my heart that I just cannot ignore.
I am nothing to you, and now I doubt I was ever anything more..
Now your anger has yellowed like fading newsprint.
Just tear it to pieces and throw it away.
Oh musician strumming melancholy chords of woe,
pack up your bankrupt guitar case and head home.
Leave the rose to wilt on the sidewalk
under the step of deaf people blinded by their own troubles.
The consequences fo this normality crack like a whip,
and the fantasy of Wonderland is lost
in the remnants of a shattered looking glass.
The white-washed walls of a cell take form,
and I'm held captive in a silent world of black and white,
a prisoner of muted emotions.
Empty words beat on the window ina storm of sympathy,
run down the glass and fall into a sea of lost naivety.
So this is what the rabbit hole hides,
how it differs from its "classic" counterpart.
This is no dream, only what we must face.
How jealous of Alice we are.
