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At the point of giving up,
Of letting go and flying up,
Not caring about my friends and family,
Selfishness took a hold on me.

I talked to my father,
I pleaded my insanity and He sent to me,
Some unforgettable angels to carry me.

They pulled the gun out of my mouth,
Showed me how to live, opened my eyes,
Made me feel so alive, soaring on the inside
Donít look down, I only keep high.

Some of them left, then I had some shit.
Life wasnít going right, so I turned to Him
And asked once again,
Please send me some guidance, send me some happiness.

So he sent me the angels I have now,
Now I donít frown or get down
Iím all about the positive energy.

They make me happy whenever I look at myself,
Such beautiful angels they are with their personalities and all,
I can finally stand tall, Iím so fucking grateful
I hope that Iíll never lose them, it be painful.

They take my hand and help me stand,
They make my pain and inject it away,
I hope they stay and wont fly away.

I love them so much that I cannot explain,
Theyíre in my soul to over lapse my hate
In my mind to keep me sane
And in my life to keep me in the game.




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Comments

The following comments are for "Angels"
by Elias

Where to begin?
So, ummm, this sucks. Not in the good "comely trollop after last call" kind of way, but the "argh the vacuum of space is tearing my eyeballs from their sockets" sort of way. Uncharitable - perhaps.

While I can not, and will not, mock your epiphany and the obviously life altering effect it has had on you I will say that it has NOT made you a poet. Or, if it did make you a poet it has made you a very BAD poet.

Here's a test if you don't believe me - This rhymes and it has religious themes but there is still the earthy vernacular so I will choose my champions accordingly. Pick up a copy of John Donne's work (easily done he is heavily anthologized) and flip through some Leonard Cohen (a contemporary citation - oo lala). Read their devotional works and compare them to yours. Then come back and try again.

On reverent knee I remain yours;
Elliott

P.S. Anyone who says, "I'm all about [insert word here]" ought to be dragged into the street and beaten bloody with a bound copy of Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson - the unexpurgated version.

( Posted by: Enforced Bliss [Member] On: August 30, 2003 )

Not very good
I also agree with Enforced. This is not very good. Nothing seems to flow very well, and nor is it very interesting to read. I had to slog through most of this thing to actually understand what it was actually about. Suffice it to say, but this is bad poetry. Go back to your notebooks and keep trying.

( Posted by: Sub [Member] On: August 31, 2003 )





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