I always knew the end would come,
but I never thought
that it would be
like this.
Where, may I ask, are the glimmering towers?
The sparkling spires that
shatter the light
as they crumble
to the ground?
Why is the Earth not splitting open,
revealing its boiling bowels
and its deepest, darkest ditches?
How are the angry mountains,
that have long since slept dormant,
not spewing their ferocious fury
of lava, covering and destroying
everything around them?
But no.
The world remains completely unchanged
except for a small speck of dust
that has been swept
almost carelessly
away.
I'll just go ahead and say that I don't like the alliteration, but you probably expected that, so I'll just point out the bits where it's an actual problem and not just me being anti-alliteration (oops). In the third stanza the alliteration looks forced--mostly because bowels and ditches seem out of place in the poem itself. I have the same it's-forced issue with "ferocious fury", and I guess that's mostly all the alliteration in the poem. I actually like "sparkling spires", but mostly because you use the word "spires"--that's a good word.
ReplyDeleteI like this poem, though. Another! (more of it!)