Vintage Saints

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December 7th, 2008 admin Leave a comment Go to comments

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How can I improve this poem?

"The Phoenix Wails"

Beauty, beauty, beauty
breaks,
heart a million pieces torn,
each to one so loved before
and now.

Words your picture painted scars,
tortured saint and dethroned queen,
lips tasting you seek only to devour.
Selfish bastards and blind fools,
who can't see that your teardrop is the ocean!
Access to Excess and the world is drunk;
no finer vintage have I seen or sampled...
wells only run so deep.

I write this and I weep for you,
your blood has been your ink too long,
and the hand that wields the sword is weary.
Nobility fallen to the dogs and Aphrodite has no champion
but a would-be poet's tears.

beauty.
beauty.
Beauty breaks,
heart a million pieces torn and
the Beast does not transform--
a Kiss is not the Key.

I have been reading your poems for a long time now,
I find nothing to criticize I am often prompted to respond in my own fashion to the feelings evoked.
You have a certain area that you have honed to perfection and you rarely deviate from where it is you are ...
have you ever thought of venturing out of that place into a different place to create diversity? or will you remain safe in the embrace you feel comfortable with?
I am curious.