I never throw away writing. So here are my poems
before I go to bed =D
This one's the one I was writing when I was
talking to a bunch of guild peoples.
It's based off of the Statue of Liberty's inscription.
Quote:
A behemoth.
A motherly figure, guarding the world.
With, in her hand, the meaning of freedom
And a light to guide the way.
The sea encircles her,
Turquoise in the mist.
Hovering over the bay,
She stands sentinel,
Lovingly and with caressing eyes
“Leave this land alone!” She commands,
“Let these people be!”
“Give us your rich, your useful,
Your geniuses and Americans,
Cries for help and Democracy,
Pointless reasons of accusations.
I will send them home, the sad and desolate,
And protect my own and you.”
A motherly figure, guarding the world.
With, in her hand, the meaning of freedom
And a light to guide the way.
The sea encircles her,
Turquoise in the mist.
Hovering over the bay,
She stands sentinel,
Lovingly and with caressing eyes
“Leave this land alone!” She commands,
“Let these people be!”
“Give us your rich, your useful,
Your geniuses and Americans,
Cries for help and Democracy,
Pointless reasons of accusations.
I will send them home, the sad and desolate,
And protect my own and you.”
And Johnny Got His Gun Mood Poem. These are
taken from the book. I'm not emo. D=
Quote:
Pain so bad I'd rather die
Strong throb of blood in his head
They cut both of his legs off
He had no mouth to yell with
No legs
No arms
No eyes
No ears
No nose
No mouth
No tongue
He smothered and panted
A wild eagerness to die
It wasn't a dream
He wasn't breathing
He couldn't live, he couldn't die
Hurry, mother, hurry and wake me.
I'm having a nightmare.
Aaaand my Transcendentalist poem....
Even though I'm an Existentialist Prose writer D=
(My history teacher doesn't accept that excuse)
Quote:
A leaf falls soft upon my head,
The consoling touch of a mother to child.
“Shh,” whispers the wind, tickling my ear, “Think no more.”
The greens and blues repeat the lines, causing the world to shiver.
“I have much too much to do!”
“We ask nothing here of you.” Coo the trees, rustling, shaking, crackle
Sending that thought away.
The sun begins to set and I feel the tranquil pinks and orange
As it enters into my soul:
No longer me, but we;
No longer we, but all.
