A fraud, you might be, camping at the edge of an extreme nestled close to the churn and wails drifting to your ears on canoe's of sound. Bearing in heart your commitment to reality a lovely discord between hand and mouth blooms with all the magnetic splendor of a man-eater plant, which illuminates the stage for your clever monologue.
Inside that sand trap you call a brain all the might of your knowledge holds itself spellbound to keep the treaty of appeasement held with your great sense of humour, that makes all the other movements become stilled until finally succombing to stagnation. Left floating in a polluted pond wherein all the better parts which constitute a man have fled to the garden of greener grass to pursue long, possibly successful, acting careers; this day we are living with has been left behind in that exact stew.
I'm not quite sure where to go from here.
the love you withhold is the pain you carry.
Very interesting. While still using aesthetic sentences but structured more coherently. This is the second poem of this sort, guess I would say tone poem, that you have posted here. Just feels a bit awkward for you but with practice that will probably go away.
What are the points that can be improved on? I feel that sometimes one idea becomes disconnected from the one before it, which causes confusion, is that true?
the love you withhold is the pain you carry.
Yes but how many poems aren't confusing. When you do stuff like this it. Is sort of common to have an almost disconnected sort of feeling. But it tells the reader more about the author and their view of the Earth than anything. The style favours mostly hard subject matter like Earth, death, immortality of the spirit, things like that.
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