I'm not the man you met three years ago.

[in-need-of-an-empire]

Delicate wispy fingers gently interlaced
his tired bony knuckles.
and a soft palm gently caressed
the most tender part of his sore neck.
"usted es la mujer más bella del mundo."
he said to her. she taught him that.
how to say it.

and then the bell tolled,
and the our of fate was upon them.

she was a tower of skin and bone
with smooth firm flesh
and eyes the sort of green that brands your soul...

they leave a mark that never fades.

her hair was a dark and lovely storm
that fell so easily over her shoulders.
and she had eyes the sort of green that brands your soul...

but he didnt love her.
no.
not until it was too late.
he broke her heart a dozen times
before she ever even touched his.

and once he allowed himself to feel her there
she burst forth from him with vengeance.

but even now his mistakes are not regrets.
even if she hates him.

He was a tower of skin and bone
with pale, scarred flesh,
and he had eyes the sort of green that fades from memory.

his hair was a dark and lifeless form
that dangled meagerly across his face.

and he had eyes the sort of green that fades from memory.

but she loved him.
yes.
every single day.
until the day before
he loved her back.

she offered up her heart to him
a dozen times with no avail
before she turned her back on him.
but even now...
her mistakes may be regrets.
because he may still love her.

and the delicate wispy fingers that interlaced so gently between his tired bony knuckles are gone now.
and the hour of fate is upon him.

[betalife]

Delicate wispy fingers gently interlaced
his tired bony knuckles.
and a soft palm gently caressed
the most tender part of his sore neck.
"usted es la mujer más bella del mundo."
he said to her. she taught him that.
how to say it.

[I'm not a native Spanish speaker but I usually speak it very well. Unless someone more qualified wants to comment on it, "usted" is usually reserved for formalities - speaking to someone in an interview, a high-level politician, etc. I think if two people were in love, caressing each other, you'd use the form "Tu eres" as opposed to "usted es."]

and then the bell tolled,
and the our of fate was upon them.

[*hour of fate. But I find these lines to be generic...heard them before, know what I mean?]

she was a tower of skin and bone [COOL LINE especialy after the bell tolls - reminds me of a bell tower!]
with smooth firm flesh
and eyes the sort of green that brands your soul... [I'd get rid of "the sort of" Rule #1 of creative writing is "show - don't tell"]

they leave a mark that never fades.

her hair was a dark and lovely storm [love this line]
that fell so easily over her shoulders. ["so easily" should be replaced by something - you can try saying "flowed over" to get the same feel as "fell so easily" and maybe hint at rain to go with her hair as "a lovely storm" but I think again here you're telling, not showing. Try to show, not tell!]
and she had eyes the sort of green that brands your soul...[again, "sort of" should be replaced]

but he didnt love her. [o0o0o nice transition here...jarring!]
no.
not until it was too late. [I'd combine this and the above line "No, not until..."]
he broke her heart a dozen times
before she ever even touched his.

and once he allowed himself to feel her there
she burst forth from him with vengeance.

but even now his mistakes are not regrets.
even if she hates him.

He was a tower of skin and bone
with pale, scarred flesh,
and he had eyes the sort of green that fades from memory. [again, "sort of" - I'd ditch it and try something else]

his hair was a dark and lifeless form
that dangled meagerly across his face.

and he had eyes the sort of green that fades from memory. ["sort of" again]

but she loved him.
yes.
every single day. [again, combine "yes, every single day"]
until the day before
he loved her back.

she offered up her heart to him [generic line]
a dozen times with no avail [I think it's "To no avail" could be wrong but I'd still change this - too generic]
before she turned her back on him.
but even now...
her mistakes may be regrets.
because he may still love her.

and the delicate wispy fingers that interlaced so gently between his tired bony knuckles are gone now.
and the hour of fate is upon him.



Some overall notes:

- I think you use too many adverbs. You should try to use adjectives that capture what you want to say without using an adverb to describe them. Use adverbs sparingly (I know this line is an oxymoron but bear with me =P)

- Make your punctuation and capitalization consistent throughout the poem

- I don't like how you dropped one line of Spanish and never use it again. I think you can use that to your advantage - you can contrast the soft vowels and flow of the Spanish (to represent the female) and the hard, consonant-driven English (to represent the male)

[in-need-of-an-empire]

i love your ideas. thanks for the tip on the spanish. in all actuality it was a sentence an ex had taught me a long time ago, and i forgot it, so i used google translate lol. youre right about the "sort of" and my use of adverbs. and as much as i would like to be consistent with punctuation and capitalization, i just cant. its a quirk that i have grown to appreciate. thank you so much for your opinion.

[ScurryFunger]

Delicate wispy fingers gently interlaced
his tired bony knuckles.
and a soft palm gently caressed
the most tender part of his sore neck.
"usted es la mujer más bella del mundo."
he said to her. she taught him that.
how to say it.

and then the bell tolled,
and the our of fate was upon them.

she was a tower of skin and bone
with smooth firm flesh
and eyes the sort of green that brands your soul...

they leave a mark that never fades.

her hair was a dark and lovely storm
that fell so easily over her shoulders.
and she had eyes the sort of green that brands your soul...

but he didnt love her.
no.
not until it was too late.
he broke her heart a dozen times
before she ever even touched his.

and once he allowed himself to feel her there
she burst forth from him with vengeance.

but even now his mistakes are not regrets.
even if she hates him.

He was a tower of skin and bone
with pale, scarred flesh,
and he had eyes the sort of green that fades from memory.

his hair was a dark and lifeless form
that dangled meagerly across his face.

and he had eyes the sort of green that fades from memory.

but she loved him.
yes.
every single day.
until the day before
he loved her back.

she offered up her heart to him
a dozen times with no avail
before she turned her back on him.
but even now...
her mistakes may be regrets.
because he may still love her.

and the delicate wispy fingers that interlaced so gently between his tired bony knuckles are gone now.
and the hour of fate is upon him.

Gosh, sorry, there is so much wrong with this. and puncuation. is just six.

The bells, the bells, for whom do they toll!

Pretentious use of a foreign language anyone?

Too many mentions of too many different coloured eye colours of different people.

All that bony interlaced finger stuff was ok though, even if you did milk it.

[in-need-of-an-empire]

well scurry fingers, it's a shame you didnt like it and didnt want to give any real critique. i would ask you, the next time youd like to come bash my poetry, at least leave a suggestion on how it can be improved. otherwise youre wasting my time.

[ScurryFunger]

well scurry fingers, it's a shame you didnt like it and didnt want to give any real critique. i would ask you, the next time youd like to come bash my poetry, at least leave a suggestion on how it can be improved. otherwise youre wasting my time.

Do better with your capitalisation and punctuation.

Think of a couple of different things to mention about your protagonists than their eye colour.

Lose the 'bell tolling' line.

Don't presume that eveyone can read erm, spannish was it?

I liked the bony lines, but you over used them.

(that's what I was saying before, sorry for wasting your time)

[in-need-of-an-empire]

Revised.


delicate wispy fingers gently interlaced
his tired bony knuckles.
and a soft palm caressed
the most tender part of his sore neck.
"____________________________"
he said to her. she taught him that.
how to say it.

and the hour of fate was upon them.

she was a tower of skin and bone
with smooth firm flesh
and green eyes, hot like hell-fire
that brands your soul...

they leave a mark that never fades.

her hair was a dark and lovely storm
that fell so easily over her shoulders.
and she had green eyes that brand your soul...

but he didnt love her.
no, not until it was too late.
he broke her heart a dozen times
before she ever even touched his.

and once he allowed himself to feel her there
she burst forth from him with vengeance.

but even now his mistakes are not regrets.
even if she hates him.

He was a tower of skin and bone
with pale, scarred flesh,
and he had green eyes, lukewarm like day old mud puddles
that fade from memory.

his hair was a dark and lifeless form
that dangled meagerly across his face.

and he had green eyes that fade from memory.

but she loved him.
yes, every single day.
until the day before
he loved her back.

she offered up her heart to him
a dozen times with no avail
before she turned her back on him.
but even now...
her mistakes may be regrets.
because he may still love her.

and the delicate wispy fingers that interlaced so gently between his tired bony knuckles are gone now.
and the hour of fate is upon him.

[Todd]

Hi, welcome to the site! Here's some feedback for you. As this is mild I won't go incredibly deep into the critique though I might write quite a bit for clarity's sake:

Revised.


delicate wispy fingers gently interlaced--First off, if your title talks about "him" you shouldn't lead with a characteristic of hers. Also, when you do descriptive imagery or point out a physical characteristic like in fiction it should tell us something about the person being described (the outer self showing the inner self) Some of your elements in the poem seem contradictory.
his tired bony knuckles.
and a soft palm caressed
the most tender part of his sore neck.
"____________________________"--Don't put a blank here leave the Spanish phrase in over using a blank
he said to her. she taught him that.
how to say it.--Look to condense a lot of this narrative. It comes off more prose than poem at the moment.

and the hour of fate was upon them.--In my opinion, this melodrama doesn't help you

she was a tower of skin and bone--The first interesting line because you've stepped into imagery. Here's the thing wispy fingers above do not go with a tower. A tower is an image of strength yet the skin and bones part makes me think of her as anorexic. It doesn't convey anything beyond the physical frame. If you were building on the wispy elements you could say tower of smoke and shadow to give her the illusion of strength and solidity. Not saying you should do that just giving an example
with smooth firm flesh--This doesn't go with skin and bone for me
and green eyes, hot like hell-fire
that brands your soul...--This really doesn't say a lot. It has the appearance of saying something but it doesn't actually do anything. Whenever anyone these days comment on the soul in a poem they almost always go over the top. Again, it doesn't really say much. You could come up with better imagery.

they leave a mark that never fades.--Look to condense ideas. The word "indelible" could replace a lot of this line. Effective poetry gets there in the fewest words. I suggest you make ruthless cuts

her hair was a dark and lovely storm--This comes close to cliche, but is actually quite nice in a way. You need to carry the metaphor forward though. To say it fell easily over her shoulders isn't what a storm would do. It would be a wild tangle of energy and motion. You seem to start and then retreat resist that urge
that fell so easily over her shoulders.
and she had green eyes that brand your soul...--The repetition doesn't buy you anything.

but he didnt love her.
no, not until it was too late.--melodramatic, telling, and not really poetry
he broke her heart a dozen times--This is overused cliche
before she ever even touched his.

and once he allowed himself to feel her there
she burst forth from him with vengeance.

but even now his mistakes are not regrets.
even if she hates him.--All of this is not poetry really just exposition

He was a tower of skin and bone
with pale, scarred flesh,--this is a better way to build on it than earlier
and he had green eyes, lukewarm like day old mud puddles
that fade from memory.

his hair was a dark and lifeless form
that dangled meagerly across his face.

and he had green eyes that fade from memory.

but she loved him.
yes, every single day.
until the day before
he loved her back.

she offered up her heart to him
a dozen times with no avail
before she turned her back on him.
but even now...
her mistakes may be regrets.
because he may still love her.

and the delicate wispy fingers that interlaced so gently between his tired bony knuckles are gone now.
and the hour of fate is upon him.

The repetition doesn't really work for me as you have it. This feels too much dry exposition and too wordy. There are a few elements I like that you could build on. I hope some of this was helpful.

Best,

Todd

[in-need-of-an-empire]

thank you todd. ill get it right eventually. its really difficult to describe the female character, i think a lot of the contradiction may be stemming from mixed emotions. ill write it again once i sort it out.