Poetry Forum
For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!
3/26/2016 10:38:01 AM
Alok Srivastava Posts: 4
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I am bored of life, there is no respite. The same misery everyday, from morning to night.
Suffering is the purpose, suffering is the end. Evil is my neighbor, foolishness my friend.
Enemies are many, supporters none. No one to intervene, by world, shunned.
The people are a picture, on my wall they blend. I wait for my Father my cause to defend.
Life is a prison with unseeable fence. In the hope of freedom, I pass my time dense.
I am bored of life, there is no respite. The same misery everyday, from morning to night.
edited by David G on 3/26/2016 edited by David G on 3/26/2016
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3/28/2016 7:21:22 PM
Bob Atkinson Posts: 294
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Sounds like it's written by some person that has no time in grade, no time in service, and no purpose. Wait a few years, you'll find purpose in helping others and spending not so much time worrying selfishly about yourself.
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3/28/2016 11:16:22 PM
Alok Srivastava Posts: 4
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Bob_Atkinson wrote:
Sounds like it's written by some person that has no time in grade, no time in service, and no purpose. Wait a few years, you'll find purpose in helping others and spending not so much time worrying selfishly about yourself. They said similar things to Jesus also. I will not hold you responsible for saying an obvious lie. You know the truth! Anyway I would appreciate your comments on my poem and not on my life. Remember I will always love you and I am not calling you a bad person.
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3/29/2016 12:34:28 PM
Bob Atkinson Posts: 294
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Alok, 1. Should have posted in Gentle Critique, you're a deer in the forest in High Critique, and as such an easy target, open season on posters here. 2. Wasn't you personally that irritated me, was kids in general who say they're bored. Is only because they've not enough life experiences to walk down the street without earbuds and mp3 player. They've got a notch of life missing, and it shows. Regards, Bob Atkinson p.s. if you really wish to get stomped on Google: poetry critic send me a poem via e-mail for some serious discussion
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