Riot Policeman Poetry Guide
Gather in a dark night, impurities of the mind caused by poisonous emotions from loss and envy, of spite or jealousy, forming misery. Love fades, ahh once so innocently precious, yet fragile in structure, Leaving the servants of it in great despair and even darker hate, Where affection ruled supreme once the scars of misery are causing a heartache from leftover rampage, a riot now presented. Ah, phantoms Swaying back and forth between sadness and anger one gets lost in his own blindness, destroying and bringing himself into ruins, This lingering sadness seems eternal as time passes painfully slower, An enlighting realisation should do the task and let the soul lost inanihilating, irritational despair grow once again strong and happy, A spark illuminating the dark, with patience and hope for the future, But until this event is taking place, a personal. is what has to be crossed alike a bridge made of anxiety, depression and self doubt. But worry not all you lost souls who are waiting for light!
After all, every winter and every night find their end and ensure the dawn of a blooming spring dream. The boy with the crooked smile, tells me that I have riot eyes.
That when he looks into them, all he sees is the chaos and he just. He says he can remember when he met me, and my eyes were soft, when they twinkled playfully in the Christmas lights, that hung in my bedroom window, while we laughed and danced, and loved, until the soft morning light lulled us to sleep. 'Do you remember that?' And I look away, unable to look at him. Because I know the answer, and he knows the answer.
'Can you remember that?' His voice more pleading, than asking. And he looks at me, like he's looking for who I used to be.
Looking for any sign that the girl he loved all those years ago, is still breathing, somewhere. But there's just silence. 'What happened to you.'
Riot Policeman Poetry Guidelines
Poetry analysis is the process of investigating a poem's form, content, structural semiotics and history in an informed way, with the aim of heightening one's own and others' understanding and appreciation of the work.
It isn't a question, just a statement that he finally whispers under his breath from across the bed while we sit there, drowning in the final dying remnants of who we used to be.
