poetry critical

online poetry workshop

the fading beauty of fire

when i was little i imagined
the stars were like little christmas lights
all twinkling and warming
like the soft glow
of the christmas tree
on a cold winters night
and in the heavens, angels fly around
checking each light to make sure
that its still working
that its
illuminating the way for
all the prayers and wishes
floating through the heavens
into the palms of God
when i grew up
and they told me
that those stars were
just burning balls of gas
it made sense and
it seemed fitting
u l t i m a t e l y
everything i find beautiful
ends up to be
something ugly
on the inside

5 Apr 03

Rated 9 (8.2) by 1 users.
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wonderful. maybe end the stanza after L12?
 — username

I don't like the feel of this. It seems very pessimistic in a lashing-out sort of way. I think you could make this statement in a more powerful way with more development from one idea to the other, not so much compare/contrast. This is too life-sucks, everybody sucks, I think.
 — justagirl

Hm, for some reason I thought I had commented on this one before. I really love it. Disillusionment is such a common theme, that it's hard to write intensely about it without seeming fake. This rings very true, and I love it, especially the last stanza. I'm not sure how I feel about the blurps of messing around with the structure... lines 11-12 and 24. I don't mind that sort of thing, but they just seem out of place in this poem, perhaps because you only really did it twice. I think you should either do more of that, or none. You know? Did I mention I love this poem? It's definitely going on my favorites.
 — Ananke

this poem is wonderful. i agree with ananke about the difficulty of writing on disillusionment. i love the whole thing except for the last line, which to me seems superfluous.
 — root

hysterical relateable pukerey. i "unnahstann", and i am oscillating between sorrow and innocontical glee
 — onklcrispy

by the way that was a compliment
 — onklcrispy

thanks for that, root.
taking off that last line/word
good call.
 — starryme

they're much more than that- I think you learned to get down on things and show your grief in such a way that it brings you the "ah" and "poor girl" of others: powerful reinforcers and upside down ways of getting attention. Turn this poem around and you're better off. Stars are much more beautiful inside than what you write that you believe. How are star gases only ugly inside?
 — unknown

I haven't actually come to this website for a couple years, but I was thinking about this poem and thought I'd come back to read it again.  I'm glad its still here.  Wonderful.
 — manstrut

This is all goodness until the last stanza. It just isn't convincing for me. Maybe because I don't see beauty as only skin deep, for wishes, etc., maybe because I find the truth in disillusionment/realisation itself beautiful, so on and so forth.

I guess the last stanza just doesn't hold enough realisation or truth - I don't like nails in coffins because that's just not how things work.
 — wendz