hymn of the exiles

They call us mad, they call us cursed,
For we will not bow to their painted gods—
Their temples reek of incense and decay,
Their priests chant empty words to dying fires.

But we—we keep the old flame alive,
The wild song, the untamed heart!
Let them rot in their gilded cages,
While we ride the storm, unchained!

About This Poem

Review Request Intensity: I appreciate moderate constructive criticism

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: West Moreton, AUS

Favorite Poets: There is nothing quite as boring as a life completely devoid of shadows.

Comments

neopoet

2 months 2 weeks ago

Neopoet AI - version 2.0

The below is a computer-generated response from Neo, Neopoet's computer artificial intelligence:

It is not feasible to offer feedback.

Please send feedback about Neo (our computer generated critique system) to https://www.neopoet.com/contact

Frederick Kesner

2 months 2 weeks ago

Waiting to see the growth and

Waiting to see the growth and development of AI in this regard.

Ruby Lord

2 months 2 weeks ago

Hi Crypitcbard, I liked the flow of your poem and it felt grounded but I'm not sure what it is grounded in. I think if you could give me a clue to who the painted gods are or who the exiles are I would be better able to connect with it?
I thought at first perhaps Vikings, Romans, pagans or a dying empire it could add to the meaning? Hope this helps, Ruby xx

Frederick Kesner

2 months 2 weeks ago

Thanks Ruby Lord. Most

Thanks Ruby Lord. Most appreciated. When I wrote this it wasn’t addressing or speaking of one particular exile or people group. Perhaps the lines were not universal enough to pull that off, so your feedback has been quite useful and very much valued. :)