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Literature Text
Sitting in melancholy
edges are white
buildings grow blurry
and fade out of sight
left is an image
bleeding with blue --
a stained rose of flaking gold
and a melody left askew.
There isn't anyone who
knows I am here
Whatever I touch
I can only besmear
I'm a dim-lit lantern
lost in dark sea
I am powerful silence
and silence is me.
A plethora of gravel
once weighed down my soul
they now reside in
a cavernous hole.
I'm crouched here, hollow
everything's bleared
and from my hopeless eyes bloomed
a scarlet-red tear.
edges are white
buildings grow blurry
and fade out of sight
left is an image
bleeding with blue --
a stained rose of flaking gold
and a melody left askew.
There isn't anyone who
knows I am here
Whatever I touch
I can only besmear
I'm a dim-lit lantern
lost in dark sea
I am powerful silence
and silence is me.
A plethora of gravel
once weighed down my soul
they now reside in
a cavernous hole.
I'm crouched here, hollow
everything's bleared
and from my hopeless eyes bloomed
a scarlet-red tear.
Literature
History Burning
the trick is
to make all believe they inheret a
world all their own
remember to erase the words of the
deceased until
death never existed
and put corpses unburied
into neat containers
under every floor
to lock them up tight is
critical;
panic is the plague in this age
and is it any wonder they forget
with puppet parents
who burn books at christmas?
Literature
Tesha- Part 3
I didn't wake up until sunset, but in the fading sun I saw a land more beautiful than my imagination could conjure. To the east, white-peaked mountains pierced a lotus-pink sky, the amber fields beneath holding a bountiful harvest. Trees soared higher than temple roofs, regal pines perfuming the air. Far in the distance, I could barely make out the facade of a stone fortress capping a particularly lofty peak. To the east, a sea gleamed like silver with fish. I approached Mursili, the Anatolian guard.
"Is this beautiful land your home?"
He smiled modestly. "And yours now, too, Lady Abisha. We have traveled far today through the lowlands; it
Literature
Harmourian History
As follows is an exscript from the "Gardeners Book":
Haramour was a priest of Sigmar who saw the corruption within the organization around him. He decided he would take up the works of Sigmar and help in burning out the wickedness within this holy sect.
He started a band of holy knights. to whom he told, "Pluck out the weeds so that the flowers may grow."
He and his "Gardeners" took out the better part of a full fifty man sect of the "Church of Sigmar" before haramour was finally caught.
During his last "weeding of the garden" he was caught in the act of purification by the paladins of the church and was quickly brought
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The last two parts were added on March 4th.
The last two parts were added on March 4th.
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Comments8
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i like this poem, you did very well writing it. i just think that if you start a poem with rhymes you should continue in the same style all the way through. if you are not sure if something rhymes just read it aloud few times. it's sometimes hard to write fixed form poems, but you can always find synonyms to what you want to say or just re-fraze it. good look in the future 