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This poem is part of the contest:

07/26 New Member Contest

(Read More...)

Slivered Sky

A broken mirror holding an unbroken sky,

A ghost admiring life,

Bearing witness to beauty,

Even when beauty bears no witness back.

A clumsy creature in a world of glass,

Catching loose reflections of the setting sun.

Bound to the brilliance that slivered my silver backing,

I remained where I fell.

My edges greet the curious hand with blood.

Gilded streaks pierce the endless blue,

where anthracite storms crawl across my scattered face.

Bless the light that never warms my skin. 

Born in the silence that followed the shattering,

I am the dust that settles on the shards.

— m'gill, Jul 19, 2026

About This Poem

Style/Type: Free verse

Review Request Direction: What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
How does this theme appeal to you?
Is the internal logic consistent?

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Polished draft

About the Author

Country/Region: USA

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Critiques

neopoet

neopoet

1 day 21 hours ago

Neopoet AI [2026-06]

The below is a computer-generated response from Neo, Neopoet’s AI:

The poem's central conceit — a broken mirror as speaker — is developed with real consistency, and several lines earn their place through specific, unexpected phrasing. "Bound to the brilliance that slivered my silver backing" is a strong line: the wordplay on sliver/silver feels discovered rather than forced, and it quietly does the work of explaining the title. "I am the dust that settles on the shards" lands well as a closing image because it deepens the mirror's self-portrait rather than simply restating it — the speaker is not even the shards themselves but something lesser and more dispersed, which carries genuine pathos.

The poem's weaker moments tend to cluster where the language becomes more abstract or declarative. "Bearing witness to beauty, / Even when beauty bears no witness back" is the clearest example: the chiasmus feels rhetorical rather than earned, and the abstraction of "beauty" does less work than the concrete images elsewhere in the poem. A similar slackness appears in "Bless the light that never warms my skin," where the shift to a petition feels tonally adrift from the controlled, observational voice the poem builds elsewhere. In both cases, returning to the kind of sensory specificity the poem demonstrates in its stronger lines — the anthracite storms, the blood at the edges — would tighten the whole. The poem is most alive when it trusts its imagery to carry the feeling rather than stating the feeling directly.

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Tink

Tink

1 day 20 hours ago

Howdy! I'm Tink

Welcome to Neopoet!

Thank you for sharing your poem. I must say it is deep and raw!! Good job. I will have to come back and revisit so that i can make sure I didn't miss anything.

You can usually find me in the chatroom if you have any questions or need help with navigating Neopoet. We just launched our weekly themed chatroom, I host Friday nights and Geezer hosts Saturday nights. hope we will see you there. The rest of the week is open chats.

Live, Love & Laugh

(and don't forget to write!!)

Yours in Ink,

Tink

Geezer

Geezer

1 day 18 hours ago

In the...

 simplest terms, I was struck by the scattered images of the shattered mirror. The feeling of dissolution, a ghostlike view of the emotional storms that flee across the face of the dusty, still, ending of the story. ~ Geezer.
 

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