/lit/ - Literature

The Last Samurai

I've made some additional progress to my work and with such suggestion to post up additional work by various Anon, I thought I might as well share.

This will be the last section of the first section I'll be posting up for review/critique - I feel like this story has potential and is doing really well, and while I'm unsure if /lit/ really takes a following to it I'll still post it up for any more comments/critique. I also don't really want to get completely plagiarized in the long run.

I've taken suggestions from my previous thread to work into this next section - hopefully it has turned out better!
_____________________________________________________________

The paper shifted a small amount, sliding down the shaft of the lamp that bent just at the right turn to hide the hands but keeping the face in my sight, staring into me without words to express. While my body was fit into rage, I knew truly I held an indescribable air of love towards her and the invoking emotions she did prescribe with her presence, that which chided the constant pressure of sexuality between the ideals I gave into her persona in my imagining. It was as if, and I spoke aloud now to her now as to simulate my understanding to her portrait, that whatever beauty she could enthrall within men was never just her image but more so the absolute decision she would sway within her own creation!

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

- Robert Frost