Midnight Equilibrium

Day's final glimmering breath dances

against fragmented edges of twilight; crested,

and descending on mountain peak beds,

blinking through woodland filters, oaken bones

wilting with autumnal fire and marigold death

awaiting cold shards, white graves;

the sleeping dark born anew

between seams of eternal, discordant waltzes

ended, finished, and climaxed

a pirouetted twist brushing away horizons

painting heavenly luminescence

across shadow fabrics; night's symphony composed

midnight melodies made of silent strings

and echoes

of quiet things

shit dude. this was imagery at its finest. "mountain peak beds," was great. "oaken bones" fuck out of here, that's brilliant lol. i've started to not guess what the writer was trying to get across and just accept my own vision of how i perceive things. and it definitely makes reading stuff a lot more enjoyable for me. the last 4 lines were my favorite especially the last 3, they struck a chord with me (pun intended)

i think you're my favorite writer here poetry wise. you have really elegant wording but it doesn't make your writing seem pretentious. to be honest, i don't know exactly what you were going for but like i mentioned above, i really enjoy what I got out of it. and that's what writing is for me. so i appreciate the drop dude.

Day's final glimmering breath dances
Illy, you make ever word count. Every single word counts in this line.
You turn a single sentence into a whole world of visions and imagery.
against fragmented edges of twilight; crested,
And it's like little sparks of magic pirouette with every brush stroke.
Even the spaces between the words seem to talk to me.

and descending on mountain peak beds,
And even with no pause, there's an inclination for natural pauses,
like a drum roll they play.

blinking through woodland filters, oaken bones
Oaken bones? You're killing me. All this line is descriptive and lovely.

wilting with autumnal fire and marigold death
And again. Line after line of gold.

awaiting cold shards, white graves;
With every line, you're bowling a spare. You make the reader hunger for more detail.
It's the reason we keep reading. It's never nap time between your lines.
'cold shards, white graves' sets such an atmosphere, and atmosphere that adds to
the reader being entirely invested in your work. Heart and soul. It's all in.

the sleeping dark born anew
Nice. Very nice.

between seams of eternal, discordant waltzes
It's like you know we want to get our hands dirty. We want to work between the lines
and see what it means to us. See what meaning we can take out of it.
You don't hand it all to us pretty in pink and all that. Even your structure is drip fed.
You leave us wanting me. You leave me, wanting more.


ended, finished, and climaxed
a pirouetted twist brushing away horizons
It's obvious you're in control. But you have intellectual control over detail.
Just leaving enough for us to fill in the blanks, enough for us to invent how we imagine
the story goes.

painting heavenly luminescence
across shadow fabrics; night's symphony composed
If this piece had music attached, I'm sure they'd be harps involved.
The melody and air of the piece is quite heavenly. The words even though
they carry a darkness at times, are themselves quite light in delivery.
And the air in this piece is stunning.

midnight melodies made of silent strings
Well there you go. Beautiful.

and echoes
Perfect ending.


You've described what matters. You've not filled this piece with senseless detail, trying to jam pack
as much imagery in as you can. You've ensured we know what we need to know.
I don't think this suffers from over description. Over description slows down the pace and your pace
flows naturally, slowly, softly, romantically even, and evenly from top to toe.
You have so much essential flavour in this Illy.
It's really quite sensational.
It's a beautiful read.
Your talent is obvious every time you drop.
Your passion is obvious too.


Great writing.


Thank you.

of quiet things