Analysis of BUTCHERED PREY-AGE
Every plague-stricken second, a star that wants to shine dies and dies again. The ash-dust of falling comets signals the approach of the end of the world for this terrible, terrible age. Men reduced to beasts have all gone wild.
The vengeful fists of vengeful fists are rattling, and the murdering death is raging. In microcosms of cellular molecules, defensive bloodlines, immune bastions are destroyed. Those who once proclaimed their health nimbus in sun-tanned southern glory are now mummies wrapped in deathly sheets, mere old men.
The desperate echoes of inhuman agony reach us daily. The media channels broadcast unbearable, unfortunate war conditions in the space and in a whole series of deserted Nineveh cities. Pressed together, trembling, the thin patients, condemned to their mortality, tremble; in each one's lethargic gaze another derailed plea is lost.
Life or Death?! For that was all that could remain. In a motionless, gloomy, silent landscape, the animals are silenced, too, deliberately put to flight. the gangrenous wounds of new blows of fate wound our determined brave will, and bring us to our knees by the lymphocyte mass of disease.
We stand at the perishing edge of Being. We watch vigilantly, if we must, scapegoats and witnesses may be needed. Whenever the dying heart of our earth falls upon the shrieks of agony, it cries out, "Why did it have to be this way?" - Our miserable, discarded dreams that we may one day be healthy again remain just childish, naive dreams.
A plague more foaming-mouthed and rabid than a scavenging wolf. Who can tell? The secret of a life-saving vaccine, how long we shall live? - The sounds of life, biting, chewing, and howling like a raging infant. It would be so good to help with outstretched, selfless arms on the wings of chords that are so long-ending and so short.
Each tiny little life should not be a mere fluttering, hangman's petal - but a hopeful redemption that all may not be lost! The bone is cold as ashes, and heats no man. Romance in love is not a thing of beauty. The habitable, sacred home, as we called earth and world, is now the battlefield of the prey we have torn!
Scheme | X X X X X X X |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 10011010011111101010111101010001101101111001001101111111 0101110111000100111001110010010101101011110111100111010111010101111 01010101010011100100101010001001010001000110101010010101010001100111010010011010101001111 11111111101001001010101001101010001110111111111001011011110110101101 111010011101111111010011100100101110110101110011111111111101000010111111110010111011 0111010101010011110101011011111101111010010101010111111110110110111111110011 11010111101100110101001011111101111100111010111011100100010111110111010101111 |
Characters | 2,159 |
Words | 384 |
Sentences | 26 |
Stanzas | 7 |
Stanza Lengths | 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1 |
Lines Amount | 7 |
Letters per line (avg) | 244 |
Words per line (avg) | 53 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 244 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 53 |
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Written on December 29, 2022
Submitted by oasev on December 28, 2022
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 1:55 min read
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"BUTCHERED PREY-AGE" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 20 Sep. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/147184/butchered-prey-age>.
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