Views on poem?

Hi I'm 22, have only just joined boards and was wondering if any of you would give your thoughts on a few of my poems, thanks.

Sad Accounts Run Always
Anna gargles up a reluctant tune
every Thursday. But always too soon
the others receive it. Maybe a stave
of ''ok''?? is her vice. Her single crave.

Yet to Anna her one vocal routine
is not to annoy. Letters of extreme
suffering always prevail with surprise
to her. Then single forced laughs hide her eyes.

Nevertheless, what if you were the ones
deafened by regular racket. The suns
diluted to rock. You would too clasp your
ears to peace. Spill a silence on the chore.

Anna too spilled silence about one day.
It poured out from her wrists and down her grey
fading skin. No one heard this final song
or warning ballad. Thursday's notes are dead.




Constant
I fill my days with pointless clutter,
bits and bobs, and nevertheless,
My head alive with constant flutter,
(marring softly to suppress)
Is still in streaks of wonders utter,
breathing, blinking and even less,
Plighted to a world another,
a starving corner he cannot bless

Yearnings
Thank you Galileo for tilting up at their sky,
as the bull, crab, and virgin sent caution from thought
to the flat earth uuncentred by musing why,
a betrayal of the senses an, unchristian plot

Sinners will crumble like a trumpet to a wall.
Glints of knife scratches shall drop from their clouds,
while Libris will bow to the vowels of the tall.
Your protest shall quiver to madness aloud.

Plighted in brick, left to whince to your game,
the branders, harassers spit love in your eye,
but the truth of their lie only whispers exclaim.
Thank you Galileo for releasing this sky.


Moonlit recurrence
Lie through that open night,
through stinging frosts of contemplation,
wooden scratches on frozen glass,
the pulled out ageing creak of a forgotten floorboard.
All you can do is listen. Never hearing the sweet purr of peace only
its disheartening cousin of silence. Never slipping out of now and its pulsing hum.
Never brushing against yourself and waking up in a sleep,just listening.

Air is now a solid icy chore, a darkened perception of magnified regret.
It drowns in the snowflakes of the stars, not attempting to escape, simply surrending to the openess.
Can you be like a sleepy diamond? The eye of heaven glares louder now
and still has not reached its peak.
No you like the floor board lie fixed in the night,
listening