Davide Castel Davide Castel
Recommendations: 39

I, personally, wouldn't put a full-stop at the end of every line. Unless perhaps, you meant this for more effect?

Michael Starr Michael Starr
Recommendations: 0

Sounds like a syntactical, stylistic, grammatical, structural comment.

Michael Starr Michael Starr
Recommendations: 0

This seems to delineate the second half of the poem (from the first).

Michael Starr Michael Starr
Recommendations: 0

"Stone-cold moonlit forest" seems to stand up to criticism here.

Michael Starr Michael Starr
Recommendations: 0

This seems to delineate the second half of the poem (from the first).

Michael Starr Michael Starr
Recommendations: 0

This seems to delineate the second half of the poem (from the first).

Michael Starr Michael Starr
Recommendations: 0

Great. Good. Consider work selection differences. Mm. Not sure what to say.

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Clare Martin Clare Martin
Recommendations: 12

A Shell


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Easy English, as usual. I wonder, though, if it's at all politically correct. I could use some advice on how to improve this poem. Naturally, I don't know how a veteran feels. This is just based on what I see and read. Any suggestions?


I could have been anything.


The ground I walked quaked in my passing.
I forgot no face, no name, no terrified scream
That begged me to let them say goodbye,
A temptation I could not afford to succumb to.
No, the sooner, the better, my mother said.
Did she mean this? Was this meant to happen?
Could I not have sung a different song?
Wielded a different weapon? Or a beautiful flower? 2 comments


I could have been anything.


I could’ve loved. I could’ve been with children.
I always loved children. I loved babysitting
My little cousin. She adored me, and I her.
When I pressed her forehead into mine
And kissed her nose, I knew that I wouldn’t
Be the one to let go. And I was right.
I could’ve had my own children, my own miracle.
Instead, I wiped thousands of the face of the earth. 1 comment


I could’ve been anything. 1 comment


I saw myself on a dimly lit stage, a piano off to the side.
I heard my voice, scratchy and echoed through the mic.
As the song progressed, I picked up and eventually smiled.
At long last, I thought. This is where I belong.
My songs changed the world. I became something treasured.
And here, in this stone-cold moonlit forest,
I think, maybe I will be there in a few years from now,
Singing a song in tribute of the soldiers whose lives I stole. 1 comment


I could’ve been anything. 1 comment


I saw myself climbing a cliff barehanded, fearless,
Tireless and wonderfully energetic. No rope supported me.
My hands were all that kept me from falling to my death.
The fingers that were meant to be calloused from the pressure
Of holding onto these rocks are instead blistered from constantly
Pressing down on that trigger, not once, but again. And again.
Now, I see a different image. The same cliff, but I am afraid.
I let go. Maybe deliberately. Maybe not. I can’t tell from here.


I could’ve been anything. 1 comment


And I became a killer. I tore myself from everything I loved
For a fancy gun and a bit of extra income. And now I’m a veteran.
Stuck in a tumbled down house. Nobody respects me.
The medals mean nothing. The money is sitting in my bag.
So I shut off all feelings and lie on the battered stone floor.
I give up on any desire to feel remorse. I will not forget
But I will not feel. I will be empty. A shell of my former self.
And, for once, this lightness will be welcome. It is now my sanity.


I could have been anything.
But now, I am nothing. 1 comment


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