literature

In Morning

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Literature Text

Through a wintry window laced with ice, lie
petrified panes of frosted grass beckoning,
languorously outstretched. A shivering bird’s cry
reaches horizon’s edge—that razor reckoning,
those impossible dimensions—hung like a kite
on a cloud, precipitously balanced between a dull
existence with poking pinpricks the only light,
and the embers of potential, slowly stoking. A lull
unfurls, a quiet eternity uncurling in that predawn
chill, everything faded to silent sepia, frozen
as though this instant is more important, torn
from time and left right where it was chosen
to be. Light spills over and creeps through
fractured, flinty sky turned a clear, unbroken blue.
This is a draft for a sonnet I have to submit for workshop next week: if you could give me any feedback (specific or general), I'd appreciate it very much!

If you'd like to give feedback, but don't know where to start, these are a few of my concerns:
- Are there any cliché parts?
- Are there any parts you get stuck on (or have to reread, or don't like, etc.)?
- Is the rhyme scheme okay? (It's ababcdcdefefgg.)
- How are the last two lines? Too corny? Do they give you a sense of closure?
- Any advice on how I could better this poem?
- Does this even count as a sonnet (all I know is that a sonnet has 14 lines [16 if you're George Meredith], but that's all the teacher really said)?

Feel free to talk about other stuff, though. I need all the help I can get!

EDIT [6/3/14]: So I changed a lot of it, and tried to get a better rhyme scheme, and I think it's got a totally different feel now as opposed to before. That is all.
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AnnMarieBone's avatar
:painter:  I love the way you can paint with words!  :airborne: