Freeform Workshop


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Leonid Gonzalez Male, 37, United States (5/22/2011 11:16:00 AM)

The requiem of the flies

The rain is crashing upon my face
Its like God is trying to wash away my pain
I look down upon the puddles of mud
Thinking about all the things I have done

The rain is so cold

The dark grey gloom surrounds me
My life is not as it should be
And I don’t care anymore
I find that Living is such a bore

The rain is so cold

My mind is numb, cold and blank
This world is passing me by
This world is cold and dank
And I wonder why I have not died

The rain is so cold


Abaddon holds no surprises for me
Under the pale moon I danced on my grave
And I am on my way to hell
I cant deny what is to be

The rain is so cold

My soul is heavy and stained and
I don’t want to carry it no more
I carry two coins in my hand
Waiting upon the water’s shore

The rain is so cold

The man in white comes for me
Pretending to walk on water
Feet stuttering, hips jutting
About to fall in and he is getting closer

The rain is so cold


There will be no requiescat for me
My apple of Peru has wilted and
The lord of the flies wont let me be
He crushes the flower in my hand

The rain is so cold

It was my last day on earth
The two coins in my hand my life is not worth
My soul knows will know no reprieve
From hell I will never leave

The rain is so cold

My life is to repand upon itself
It is destined to reprise
My song has not ended
But has repetended

The rain is cold

To the Archean I was sent
Where I was meant to repent
Repentir, pentir, paenitere
Until the worlds’ end

The rain is so cold

From the puddles of mud I look up
And realize I have gotten old
All my years spent wondering,
And I have no story to be told

The rain is so cold

I can only hope to die one day
And start it all over again but
The lord of the flies wont let me die
I have become one of his flies to my dismay


first post, curious to know what you think of this. i dont know how to classify this poem.

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  • Rookie - 0 Points Theresa Haffner (5/31/2011 2:46:00 AM) Post reply

    This poem has interesting content, and it is refreshing to see a poem with as much psychological exploration and symbolism as this, but it is hardly free form. Freeform would imply freedom from form, such as free verse which has no rhyme or meter, or like the later works of T.S. Eliot, may mix elements of rhymed and unrhymed verse but does not adhere to a rigid or repeating formal structure. This poem defines a very strict pattern of four line verses with end rhymes separated by a repeating statement-'the rain is so cold'-which gives a very elegant effect. But it is almost the opposite of free form. Perhaps the poem has been misclassified and should be posted under poems in rhyme and meter. I hope this comment has been helpful. Keep writing.

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