L
Lalazd
Guest
I need some help with a revision to my poem called "The Sailors".
A helpful critique would be greatly appreciated.
“Oh, don’t let the moon get you down.
That peculiar moon just knows how to frown.”
They’d tell each other under nerved winds,
knowing the moon will always bend by.
On the ocean they fetched the rain,
from the atmosphere to the windowpane.
On their fingertips was secured a string
so they didn’t forget the light in between.
And as asteroids caught a haunted glimpse
of two hands enlaced, he spoke pretence:
“Wink your frills, keep your nails off me,”
he bellowed a murmur in salt-soaked breeze.
The sailor was drowning, but he kept him from dead.
He whispered promises that went unsaid.
But still, he had the most beautiful eyes
that charmed like a fish entranced in its tide.
The morning brought time for the dust to subside.
They cast out the midnight with fishing line.
They were thinking of crows spreading the sky
under gulls that were feigning their sarcastic smiles.
His hands crept calmly; they’re light of the moon
by downpour goodbyes stretched into the monsoon.
He just kept to his reverie- his sheltered remains
of a seaside society a bit less than sane.
The sailors were swallowed in the maelstrom that night.
In these parts, you see, hurricanes aren’t polite.
He’d just take his umbrella and climb to the sun,
and watch in vexation, as the love was undone.
He’s too much of a coward to croon out his faith.
He’s much too irate to believe in a fate.
That afterward calm harbored no hope.
The midnight was fancy that sank like a boat.
A helpful critique would be greatly appreciated.
“Oh, don’t let the moon get you down.
That peculiar moon just knows how to frown.”
They’d tell each other under nerved winds,
knowing the moon will always bend by.
On the ocean they fetched the rain,
from the atmosphere to the windowpane.
On their fingertips was secured a string
so they didn’t forget the light in between.
And as asteroids caught a haunted glimpse
of two hands enlaced, he spoke pretence:
“Wink your frills, keep your nails off me,”
he bellowed a murmur in salt-soaked breeze.
The sailor was drowning, but he kept him from dead.
He whispered promises that went unsaid.
But still, he had the most beautiful eyes
that charmed like a fish entranced in its tide.
The morning brought time for the dust to subside.
They cast out the midnight with fishing line.
They were thinking of crows spreading the sky
under gulls that were feigning their sarcastic smiles.
His hands crept calmly; they’re light of the moon
by downpour goodbyes stretched into the monsoon.
He just kept to his reverie- his sheltered remains
of a seaside society a bit less than sane.
The sailors were swallowed in the maelstrom that night.
In these parts, you see, hurricanes aren’t polite.
He’d just take his umbrella and climb to the sun,
and watch in vexation, as the love was undone.
He’s too much of a coward to croon out his faith.
He’s much too irate to believe in a fate.
That afterward calm harbored no hope.
The midnight was fancy that sank like a boat.