Reviews for Love Revisited
criti-sized chapter 1 . 4/15/2007
I really liked this poem. The imagery of it is very nice, and the words seem to pull it together to make it into a small master piece. I can't really say much about it being that I haven't entirely digested it, and still am... But it was a poem worth reading
Mosaic Stains chapter 1 . 4/8/2007
I was in the midst of a review to you when I lost the whole thing. So I decided to take a breather and review you for this instead, since I can't entirely remember what I had put in the review. It was quite lenghty...

Maybe later before I decide to get off and go to bed, I'll remember and come up with a condensed version.

For now, about this:

{A frozen stone lies deep in a desert,

with protective icicles

That keep out the bangs and breasts

Of those that try to melt it

With fiery eyes and razor-sharp nails.}

Immediately, the thought that came to mind was of a person who had secretly been in love with someone. How closely they guard that secret from harm or anyone coming into acknowledgement of it. So they hid it within a place deep within them.

{One night, as the rock sleeps,

A woman grabs it, pinches it,

And throws it in a fire, melting the spikes

That trap it like a mouse,

Caught, its neck shattered in anguish.}

These lines, although contradict my thoughts in some sort of way, express the escape of it. The pain given by its discovery and remembrance.

{As water pools around the maiden’s camp,

She tosses the hot coal from hand to hand,

Attempting to cool that which she has heated.

With each catch and release,

The stone loses heat, transferred to her fingers.}

This tells the story of how passionate that love once was and has cooled now; reminds it was there and marginally forgotten. It also made me think of the a reflection... by the reflection of how it was and how it came to be...

{Finally, as the passion of the ember dies,

She holds it up to the cool moonlight.

Nothing remains of the mystery, the antique mystique

Of a rock frozen over in a blazing desert.}

The story is told...

{She casts aside the sad stone,

Placing it carefully by the fire’s edge

So that it might never grow frost again.

Inky night covers her as she skips away,

Satisfied with herself and her fire.}

And now we come to where it shall never be forgotten. For the fire shall keep it warm.

In another sense it reminds me of first love and its time, and second love rejuvenating the emotion of it by remembrance.

Wonderful imagery painted and befitting title.

C.F. Anne chapter 1 . 3/16/2007
Very intersting. I'm confused what the whole thing is about though. You had wonderful imagry though.