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The beginning of the friendship.

The four women, killed a dog.
He had a headphones, and spoke French, with English.
I’ve called him Anger.

Smiled, laughed, and tormented,
Anger stood his point.
As He never left the hopes to
Infuriate the stand-byres.

Yet what is an anger, if not the deepest love.
So I tried, to see him as he is,
and acted like him today.

I smiled to him,
but did not laugh.

I tormented him,
but not with the gestures, or mere words.

Being curious, of course at what will happen.

I stood and watched him lay onto his usual rug.

But nothing had happened, yet
He smiled

That was the keen young man,
I wrote about.

Style / type: 
Structured: Eastern
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

I'm sorry, but I don't understand your poem. so I cannot properly critique it. sorry... is there any way that you could edit and make it more clear?

always, Cat

When someone reads your work
And responds, please be courteous
And reply in kind, thanks.

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