poetry critical

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to whom my voice belongs

There loiters no public notion in my voice.
It sails quietly on rough water,
It breathes deep through tick curtains of air.
My voice is as free as the mind of a child,
roaming the deep forests in hunger,
finding who it may.
No energy powers my voice,
my voice is a force,
my voice powers itself,
All that floats along the air of my voice,
a Matrix of green numbers,
funnels into others
decoding itself to strangely familiar ears.
At times though my voice is as loud as silence,
screaming through the air,
tumbling to the ground,
halfway through flight.
Sometimes my voice is the collection of many,
usually, though,
its my own.

22 Oct 06

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line 15 is a bit too obvious an oxymoron or a poetic paradox i would say...

otherwise, prefer it's for its on line 21.

line 3 : tick or thick ?

i quite like the exploration of the topic - read you maybe
 — greenmantle

 — unknown