Hidden Movers

July 21, 2012
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All of my favorite things,
Are not really things at all.

They hide in the sound of strings,
They speak between lines of words,
They alter voices and emanate from eyes,
They magnify each other as only impossibilities can.

No paper can wield such power,
No present propose such good-will,
No object allow such appreciation,
As that of emotion.

The spark for Morrison's fire,
The radiance of a child's smile,
The sincerity of the greatest relationships,
The depraved depression of Baudelaire's prose.

Nothing real ever happened,
Without emotion right there to tip the scales.

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This article has 3 comments. Post your own now!

Matt27 said...
Jul. 27, 2012 at 11:38 am
Thanks guys, and I'll totally look at you corrections Eirias.
AgentOrange789 said...
Jul. 26, 2012 at 10:09 pm

Hey! Sorry about the lateness of my reply, I've just been so busy lately that I forgot about my "feedback for feedback" post. 

This is really good poetry. It draws one in very well, but I can't put my finger on exactly how. It just feels good to read. 

Eirias said...
Jul. 23, 2012 at 8:18 pm

This is probably my favorite of what you've written. I'm not sure that the title was quite right. I liked this, but I don't really see much way to improve it.

Would you mind taking another look at that poem in the forum under "Any Advice?" I found my binder of corrections, and I need some feedback on whether they work or not. Thanks!

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