Poetry Forum

sparkler - all messages by user

8/9/2022 3:08:20 PM
title pending - first draft	this thing is as the title says in its first draft and borderline incomprehensible. things haven't been properly researched and such the architect? in my city, everyone makes their own road interconnected like a spider's web, node to node i stare at the roads of other people wishing to make something equal the time has finally come for me to make my road! i go to the drawing room excited i draw my road with crayons, watercolours, acrylic, tempera, oil, inks but it never turns out how i think returning to the drawing room full of gloom make the blueprints again, people say, not realising they're driving me into a fray their voice becomes my own and their faces morph into mine you did it wrong and now you will suffer for it, you swine. i pored over the road's plans deep into the night pored over the building materials, the costs, the indigo carmine in the paper, the lights drew the road from scratch, asked the planners what they wanted, the mayor, the people, the engineers it's still not enough, they say "look at what your failure has done to this city" "the consequences of such an ugly street won't be pretty" my faces stare into mine i go back to the drawing room again, one more night and it'll be nine i'll be fine perfection takes time this time i'll do it right with some inspiration, it won't be such a grind in the dead of night, i pick up a stone from each street to give up now would be admitting defeat so i'll force these ends to meet the stones on my back make me heavy on my feet but i still walk home and start drawing again. within the next week or so i finish the road the design, the sketches, the flowers all around in the concrete are those stolen stones found, making my project bound to be seen as the terrible hack job it is everyone around me have finally been given back their voices and faces; my parents smile proud, the mayor shakes my hand, my relatives ruffle my hair, my friends say it's grand but it's not my road, it's theirs i abandon them to their celebration i have no time for vacation i go back to the drawing room again this time my effort won't be in vain this time i'll do it right.
pages: 1

8/9/2022 3:08:20 PM

this thing is as the title says in its first draft and borderline incomprehensible. things haven't been properly researched and such

the architect?

in my city, everyone makes their own road

interconnected like a spider's web, node to node

i stare at the roads of other people

wishing to make something equal

the time has finally come for me to make my road!

i go to the drawing room excited

i draw my road with crayons, watercolours, acrylic, tempera, oil, inks

but it never turns out how i think

returning to the drawing room

full of gloom

make the blueprints again, people say, not realising they're driving me into a fray

their voice becomes my own and their faces morph into mine

you did it wrong and now you will suffer for it, you swine.

i pored over the road's plans deep into the night

pored over the building materials, the costs, the indigo carmine in the paper, the lights

drew the road from scratch, asked the planners what they wanted, the mayor, the people, the engineers

it's still not enough, they say

"look at what your failure has done to this city"

"the consequences of such an ugly street won't be pretty"

my faces stare into mine

i go back to the drawing room again, one more night and it'll be nine

i'll be fine

perfection takes time

this time i'll do it right

with some inspiration, it won't be such a grind

in the dead of night, i pick up a stone from each street

to give up now would be admitting defeat

so i'll force these ends to meet

the stones on my back make me heavy on my feet

but i still walk home and start drawing again.

within the next week or so i finish the road

the design, the sketches, the flowers all around

in the concrete are those stolen stones found,

making my project bound

to be seen as the terrible hack job it is

everyone around me have finally been given back their voices and faces;

my parents smile proud, the mayor shakes my hand, my relatives ruffle my hair, my friends say it's grand

but it's not my road, it's theirs

i abandon them to their celebration

i have no time for vacation

i go back to the drawing room again

this time my effort won't be in vain

this time i'll do it right.

pages: 1