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Poetry Camp, Day 1

604 Views 5 Replies 3 Participants Last post by  ChankastRules
Well for school I inlisted myself in a poetry workshop that I went to today and will be returning to tomorrow. I wrote a number of poems, but I particularly like these 2. Tell me what you think :).

Bleeding Rose

I remember walking around in the grassy fields. I look around and see an unending vastness of a world with a reality and a senseless layer of unmeaning rubbish that people say merely for the purpose of it. I reach out my hand and my arm and touch this world. It feels rough and overweighted and worn out like an old rag. But it’s impossible to wash this rag and start over; fore many people rely and live by this rag. Some worship it or its creators or are so reliant on it that to lose it would mean their end. I run my hand along the world and feel the curses of those who can’t bare it to be altered or redistributed. I try to run though this vast field of thought, though the resistance of the grass of discomfort fling back with a resounding, “Leave me alone!” I look to the sky, though all that looks back is a cold darkness, a storm of thought that rains down on the field of the world. It doesn’t stop, it just continues like a never ending railway going off into the distance. In the centre of this field lies a flower with the petals of corruption, the stench of failure, drenched in the blood of the world. It bleeds and bleeds and this blood flows throughout the fields of the world. The sky is stained forever, the stench of the flowers are now that of death. The trees are no longer green, the sky is no longer blue and the fields of the world are grey. An infinite grey that resembles the corrupted thoughts of the populous. The storm rages, an unending rage fore no one is ever happy. The red rain drenches the world in that corruption and lives with it, fore none can bear the cleansing of a new beginning. A lost world cannot be found.

She Is The Wind

The wind runs over the fields like ripples of an impact
Like a magical wave she brings her will upon the plain
Though don’t make the wind angry, fore she will knock you down
Hold up your hand and you will feel her pattery touch
Hold up your face to her and feel her dry kiss against your lips
Feel her hand run through your hair
Feel her touch as she moves around your clothes
Run along with her through the fields, she will follow you forever
Play with her at the beach, she will follow you forever
She will take your kite right up into the sky
Though don’t make the wind angry, fore she will knock you down
Hold up the tent because she will take it down
Hold onto the kite because she won’t let go
Feel her wrath as she allies with the rain
Feel her anger as she takes away your house
Run and play with her because she does mean well
Though don’t make the wind angry, fore she will knock you down
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We liked the wind poem :)

yes..even the dark nature of ole DW takes enjoyment from the occasional poem.

We would hate to see what mood you were in when you wrote the other poem though :evil:
Hehe, I was actually just writing the first one on-the-fly as an exercise for class. But yes, it was not a pretty train of thought :).
Poetry class *points and laugh* hahahahaha--- oo wait does it have any pretty chicks there? wow.. I bet they love poems hmm, maybe I should take that too!

of course if you keep writing like that you'll scare them away :X
Surprisingly the girl I'm interested in liked the first one o_O. Though the class itself was all boys (I go to an all boys school).
ow, all boys school? that sucks :(

But if the girl you're intressed in liked the first one it appears like a good idea anyhow :D
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