The Dusk of Day's Remains, sonnet Options

[heartsong7]

The Dusk of Day’s Remains

His coming home alive was only half
the battle. Acting like he cared at all
for anyone or thing, to simply laugh,
was hell. Awakened, crouching in the hall,
not knowing where he was or why he should
survive, he raised the gun, and felt the scar
where once had been a cheek; then slowly stood.

By morning he'd retrieved his old guitar,
a scratched-up, string-less wreck he vowed to save.
I watched him recreate an instrument.
As countless hours of renovations gave
him purpose, he was peaceful and content.
He strummed his own renditions. Those refrains
still echo in the dusk of day's remains.

[Daniel Barlow]

Hi Sue, very nice to see you here and to see your work again.
I hope I haven't missed you.

His coming home alive was only half
the battle. Acting like he cared at all
for anyone or thing, to simply laugh,
was hell. Awakened, crouching in the hall,
not knowing where he was or why he should
survive, he raised the gun, and felt the scar
where once had been a cheek; then slowly stood.

I feel like i want your words to fork some lightning or to overwhelm me with the rightness of simplicity or to paint something i couldn't have seen. At present i think you have a workable scene where all the dots line up, although I think L7 could be strengthened as it seems a bit mechanical in its description. I feel overall, rather than seeing someone waking up not knowing where they are, it might enliven the story more if through the descriptions we get a sense of where he isn't (the battlefield etc)


By morning he'd retrieved his old guitar,

I like that this line tells me he stayed up all night, though for the sake of the story and in the interests of cohesiveness i'd kind of like it if the whole coming back, waking up, retrieving the guitar etc etc all happened in one set of time, either over a night and day or over many nights and days, otherwise the transition from the one night to countless hours is less smooth than it might be imo.


a scratched-up, string-less wreck he vowed to save.
I watched him recreate an instrument.
As countless hours of renovations gave
him purpose, he was peaceful and content.
He strummed his own renditions.

I think you could use the action to suggest the mood state, because as it stands the movement to/interest in the guitar suggests peace and a smoothing out of things, a settling of self/coming to terms with the old and new etc.




Those refrains
still echo in the dusk of day's remains.

By contrast and in relation to what I just said, these lines almost seem out of place because they are such a departure from the ones that proceed them. That works and doesn't work.

I guess I want a sense of who he is and what he's come from and how, in particular, the music, moments leave us with a sense of him.


hope that's not too much.
I don't know what I think about crit anymore but then I haven't exactly immersed myself in the culture/environment.

It's really nice to see you here. I missed ya.

db