PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

That is very shrewdly: Sorry, meant to post a reply.

If dead poets spoke what a: If dead poets spoke what a conversation loop that would be!  Now we deal in hypotheticals, imaginative conceptualisations, and fanfiction type stuff.

Eliot was the first Modernist: Eliot was the first Modernist Poet I studied during the Seventies.  You have written an excellent response to Prufrock.

This one hits hard. Loved the: This one hits hard. Loved the message in this one. Nice job!

This piece breathes like an: This piece breathes like an old soul in a new body: reflective, bold, and untethered by shame. It’s the kind of poem that doesn’t just speak; it listens to its own evolution. The imagery—“words I loosed like doves in flame,” “bone is bone,” “wisdom sighs” is a stunning collision of vulnerability and assertion. There's grace in the speaker's permission to shift, and strength in the refusal to wear “a doubled face.” The final stanzas especially carry a quiet defiance against judgment, echoing something almost sacred: the right to change, not as a flaw but as a virtue. This isn't just a poem about growth; it’s about earned authenticity; the messy, beautiful process of becoming. What resonates most is that gentle command: “So let me change, and let it be, / A hymn to our humanity.” It doesn’t beg for understanding. It asserts that transformation is not betrayal.  

  All at once this poem leans:   All at once this poem leans into reflection, tension, and quiet trepidation, like an echo spoken softly but firmly into the same cathedral air and as quickly as an exhaled breath, the offered thought disappeard into our own.  Brings to mind a "Stand by Me" experience we had one summer just before middle schoool started. Hope it shall be read in like spirit.