The Burning Mind of a Poet

research and development of self

The burning mind of a poet.

He sits in the underworld of his soul. Eyes down. Sparks of ingenuity void the darkness. Deeper La'jik. They called him a mad man, never thought he'd go sane; the secret of fortune was joy in his hands. Power packed bombs drop and explode between the line; India ink radiates with every hailing word, giving off the artists prismatic sunset. What lurks in his subconscious- a mixture of waves- descends, infusing the grave of the page - A self established vim, happiness, and enterprise. The rich culture of negative emotions and hidden enemies that roamed his head, now exhaled as cerebral poetry upon Indica smoke. Unmasked - I'm flying on the L train rushing as blood in the veins of midnight Brooklyn.

Author's Note

Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated

Reviews

[Joℏn / Jack / Turtle ..]

Good theme, some nice imagery, and a few choice words, but seems a little rough like a first draft.

[Trigorin]

Not bad, and I love your use of description in this short piece, but I do somewhat wish there was more to it. As it stands it's just a description, that's all, and I think you have a great amount of potential with this piece and this character to come up with a really wonderful story, but you just haven't done that. It seems a little unfinished. Don't get me wrong, it's a fantastic bit of writing, but there's just not much of a point.