Analysis of Into my sight



And then I see her she slides into my sight steals away my darkness then replenishing with light.
She heaves a heavy sigh head aloft toward the sky.
I know you've love to give me but I have to say goodbye.
I belong to no one, less resigned more so designed.
In a universe so vast I still feel so confined.
As timeless as all past and future left combined.
This realm it still escapes me therefore must be left behind.
Mortality, finality are both one in the same.
Death and fear and hopelessness to me are just a name.
Transcending the futility of hate and war and shame.
Though I'm not sad to be leaving I am happy that i came.
To know that one whom dwells below could capture one above.
Proving there's significance in what is known as love.
Weakening in mind and soul I feel her grip it shift.
Her hand it pulls away from mine to vanish in the rift.
Unknowing of her fate or in what endlessness she'll drift.
Only her in memory remains a precious gift.
In her softly spoken tone rings the echo of her sorrow.
I know you'll always love me but there will be no tomorrow.


Scheme ABBCCCCDDDDEEFFFFGG
Poetic Form
Metre 011101101111011101010011 1101011010101 1111111111111 1011111011101 001011111101 110111010101 1111011111101 01000100111001 1010100111101 01000100110101 111111101110111 11111101110101 1010100011111 1000101110111 01110111110001 010101101111 1000100010101 001010110101010 1111111111101
Closest metre Iambic heptameter
Characters 1,074
Words 224
Sentences 19
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 19
Lines Amount 19
Letters per line (avg) 44
Words per line (avg) 11
Letters per stanza (avg) 840
Words per stanza (avg) 206

About this poem

This is one of my older poems for a different person (who also happened to be a ballet dancer, amongst other things).

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Submitted by RyanBlackborough on March 28, 2024

1:08 min read
3

Ryan Blackborough

For years he lived in a secret government facility. One day they found him and were like "what the fuck are you doing here?", and they shot him. Now he wanders the earth as a ghost, a poet ghost (not a ghost writer, he's way cooler than that). For some reason he can wear hats but if he walks through a wall or something (not like tables or small stuff) the hat falls off. He's lost a lot of nice hats. more…

All Ryan Blackborough poems | Ryan Blackborough Books

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