Clock ticking away, one second at a time, counting down the seconds to oblivion. The room is silent; the only sound is the whispering of the wind and the crackling of paper, soon to be lost. The sky is dark, heavy with the plague that will soon envelop us all. Everyone stands as one and walks outside, on to the dead ground. Everything is dead or dying, but they pay no mind to that. These objects are the tools of Armageddon, the spawn of the deepest, darkest corners of hell. They do not care about life; they are heartless and cold.
They are not of the planet.
Just an old poem that I thought was shareable. Feedback would help out a lot!
It seems to end abruptly, and I can't determine the function of the poem. What thought process(es) is this meant to inspire in the audience? I think this point could use more development.
I completely agree; it was a really early poem of mine before I started to really take a turn for the best with my poetry. I'll keep your points in mind, though.
good to know. How long have you been writing?
I started to take it seriously about five or so years ago and didn't really start to develop my true skills until I got into high school.
What level are you at in school? Some of the writing skills I have now I picked up and refined in college. But reading other writers always helps.
Ah. That explains it. You've got plenty of time to develop your writing more fully. In fact, a serious writing never stops refining his or her skills. What helped me the most was learning to "read like a writer". I had some professors who taught that skill to me. Now I'm at the point were I see word patterns in everything I read.