High | The Art of Poetry | Page 1

somber relic Oct 15, 2023, 4:11 PM

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Within my body
The aching burgeons
Enclosed in my lungs
The engines roar darker than coal
Caught in my gut
The poison punches until the count hits nine
Damaged are the kidneys
Shoveled down by the hand
And sweet is the pain
Chained is my heart
Imprisoned and stimulated
Racing as if near the finish line
Immobile is the brain
Thoughts that rot
Spread sky high
A fire that consumes all throughout
Outside the world meets
Not a question
Not a thought
Not even a whisper
Yet the orchestra plays within

somber relic Oct 15, 2023, 4:36 PM

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<@&1145760802666717234>

quiet saffron Oct 15, 2023, 6:47 PM

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somber relic Within my body The aching burgeons Enclosed in my lungs The engines roar darker...

Grammar may help this, but without it it does have a certain appeal (pure narrative freedom dontchya know). But as an experienced narrator I'd have a bit of trouble reciting this in one go personally (which may be worth it tbh).

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I LOVED IT THOUGH! Killer job.

somber relic Oct 15, 2023, 6:58 PM

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quiet saffron Grammar may help this, but without it it does have a certain appeal (pure narrat...

Ill keep that in mind, another person told me its kinda like yoda talk haha, i'll make is sound smoother and the way I would say something later

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thanks 🙂

somber relic Oct 15, 2023, 7:48 PM

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I tried to make it flow here:

Within my body the aching burgeons.
Enclosed in my lungs,
the engines roar darker than coal.
It spreads to my gut,
where the poison punches, until the whistle is blown at the count of nine.
There’s damage in my kidneys.
Shoveled down by the same hand
that longs for a sweet feeling, even if it is masqueraded and in pain.
There’s a chain around my heart
that grows imprisoned and stimulated.
It’s Racing as if near the finish line but shackled from the start.
The brain is left immobile,
and inside, my thoughts rot and spread sky high.
It’s where the same flame resides and burns, a perfect match with a lighter.
I finally look outside where there is
not a question,
not a thought,
not even a whisper,
Just an orchestra that plays within.