mountain_tiger
Smash Champion
Link to original post: [drupal=2150]Some poems I wrote.[/drupal]
Note: They may suck. If so, constructive criticism would be appreciated.
WINTER RETURNS
Winter has arrived,
Erasing aging footsteps
Along with all chance of sweetness.
He sits on an old broken bench,
Thinking of all his hopes and dreams,
Remembering how in one short moment
They had been shattered and scattered
Like a faded glass sculpture.
His tears fall to the ground like summer rain.
Flocks of birds begin to fly south,
Leaving behind nothing
Except their snow-covered nests.
He had many aspirations:
Simple, hopeful, childish dreams,
But inside his mind,
He had lost all hope,
For throughout his cursed life,
He had felt nothing except
Heartache, pain and boundless sorrow.
Nothing can ease his pain,
For his time has come to its close.
Nothing can save him now,
As he bleeds fountains of scarlet,
After seizing his treasured knife,
And ending his suffering forever.
THE OLD MAN AT NIGHT
A lone old man walked from afar;
When he looked up, he saw a shining star.
And he saw how it lives and thrives,
In the blackness of our lives.
He turned back and saw the grass.
It glistened and shone, like a shard of glass.
There was no one there, in his demise,
No one to see him as he cries.
The moon was shining, staring at his face,
As he wonders why he is in this place.
Nobody knows. Nobody cares.
Nobody sees this sadness that he shares.
It started to rain and it blurred the sky.
He stood in the moonlight and asked himself why.
He has the sense of having no aim,
As he hears someone calling his name.
He knew in his heart that the end was near,
And he knew that it would all end here.
He breathed slowly, and reflected on his past.
He struggled to stay silent, for his suffering had been vast.
He lies on the ground and closes his eyes,
Thinking of life and all of its lies.
He stays this way until he sees a light,
Then he realises that he has lost the fight.
EYE OF THE BEAST
Blood falls from the eye of the beast.
Always when you expect it least,
The demons of the flames will rise like yeast
And gather together for their merciless feast.
They feast on the souls of those led astray.
Demented and twisted, they feast day by day
On the innocent yet careless victims of today.
This has been, and will always be their way.
Their blood falls to the ground like crimson rain,
While the demons laugh and jeer at their torture and pain.
Now it is over, as the moon begins to wane,
But the beast shall be reborn; the feast shall begin again.
Edit: Here's a fourth poem that I finished today.
THE HUMBLE CROW
The shadowed figure of the moonlight:
Sleek, black-feathered and unwanted.
The humble crow.
Perched on the edge of the cliff top,
It falls into the abyss;
Falling and falling until
It rises and soars.
Newly awaken and full of life.
Soaring over the land of patriotic justice:
Sleek, black-feathered and unwanted.
The humble crow.
As tensions and conflicts rise aflame,
The land feeds on fresh blood;
Feeding and feeding until
The battle is over.
The day of judgment shall come.
Returning majestically to its homeland:
Sleek, black-feathered and unwanted.
The humble crow.
The wife of the dead man perches at his grave,
Leaves some flowers and cries;
Crying and crying until
Her resolve returns.
Slowly, she walks away.
The shadowed figure of the moonlight:
Alone, afraid and desperate.
The lonely widow.
Perched on the edge of the cliff top
She falls into the abyss;
Falling and falling until
She hits the sea.
Newly dead and lifeless.
So, what do you think?
Note: They may suck. If so, constructive criticism would be appreciated.
WINTER RETURNS
Winter has arrived,
Erasing aging footsteps
Along with all chance of sweetness.
He sits on an old broken bench,
Thinking of all his hopes and dreams,
Remembering how in one short moment
They had been shattered and scattered
Like a faded glass sculpture.
His tears fall to the ground like summer rain.
Flocks of birds begin to fly south,
Leaving behind nothing
Except their snow-covered nests.
He had many aspirations:
Simple, hopeful, childish dreams,
But inside his mind,
He had lost all hope,
For throughout his cursed life,
He had felt nothing except
Heartache, pain and boundless sorrow.
Nothing can ease his pain,
For his time has come to its close.
Nothing can save him now,
As he bleeds fountains of scarlet,
After seizing his treasured knife,
And ending his suffering forever.
THE OLD MAN AT NIGHT
A lone old man walked from afar;
When he looked up, he saw a shining star.
And he saw how it lives and thrives,
In the blackness of our lives.
He turned back and saw the grass.
It glistened and shone, like a shard of glass.
There was no one there, in his demise,
No one to see him as he cries.
The moon was shining, staring at his face,
As he wonders why he is in this place.
Nobody knows. Nobody cares.
Nobody sees this sadness that he shares.
It started to rain and it blurred the sky.
He stood in the moonlight and asked himself why.
He has the sense of having no aim,
As he hears someone calling his name.
He knew in his heart that the end was near,
And he knew that it would all end here.
He breathed slowly, and reflected on his past.
He struggled to stay silent, for his suffering had been vast.
He lies on the ground and closes his eyes,
Thinking of life and all of its lies.
He stays this way until he sees a light,
Then he realises that he has lost the fight.
EYE OF THE BEAST
Blood falls from the eye of the beast.
Always when you expect it least,
The demons of the flames will rise like yeast
And gather together for their merciless feast.
They feast on the souls of those led astray.
Demented and twisted, they feast day by day
On the innocent yet careless victims of today.
This has been, and will always be their way.
Their blood falls to the ground like crimson rain,
While the demons laugh and jeer at their torture and pain.
Now it is over, as the moon begins to wane,
But the beast shall be reborn; the feast shall begin again.
Edit: Here's a fourth poem that I finished today.
THE HUMBLE CROW
The shadowed figure of the moonlight:
Sleek, black-feathered and unwanted.
The humble crow.
Perched on the edge of the cliff top,
It falls into the abyss;
Falling and falling until
It rises and soars.
Newly awaken and full of life.
Soaring over the land of patriotic justice:
Sleek, black-feathered and unwanted.
The humble crow.
As tensions and conflicts rise aflame,
The land feeds on fresh blood;
Feeding and feeding until
The battle is over.
The day of judgment shall come.
Returning majestically to its homeland:
Sleek, black-feathered and unwanted.
The humble crow.
The wife of the dead man perches at his grave,
Leaves some flowers and cries;
Crying and crying until
Her resolve returns.
Slowly, she walks away.
The shadowed figure of the moonlight:
Alone, afraid and desperate.
The lonely widow.
Perched on the edge of the cliff top
She falls into the abyss;
Falling and falling until
She hits the sea.
Newly dead and lifeless.
So, what do you think?
