Young Writers Society

I know hell and back gets you nowhereBut I’d though I’d gone fartherThan this There you are, in the early Monday morning radar Gray-sweatered arms opened wide, And though my ...

Niiicee I really really like it !! The last stanza was soo cool I can relate myself soo well with this poem don't change a thing !! the part about ...

You beat me and abuse me, but I won't hit you back, it stings and it bleeds, but I love the whips crack. It always assumed, that all love is ...

I don't much like the line breaks in this. All comments, crits, suggestions welcome. This is the second part to the epigone CL the epigone II. ((helios apartment)) bright, brain ...

this poem was writtin when my frien was like nine and now hes twelve. the numbers on my computer quite working and they took most of the punctuation keys with ...

So... I had a good day FOR YOU, I'LL SPEAK FRENCH 'Meet me under the clock tower at one' she said, and we laughed because we're poets, drunk on a ...

I. ((antigone)) she dreams of icarus-wings so he paints them there gold-leaf-feather-tips fluttering in the slight breeze. the waft of spice flecks mingle on tongues as she drinks her fill ...

I wish I had her, But she’s under his spell, I just can’t take this, My passion doesn’t end well. I spy her elated by him, It braids my pleasure ...

I think my brain just died, Though I thought it would go with a pop. Or maybe a huge explosion That would rock the entire Earth! Earthquakes would start Followed ...

It’s darker here than anywhere in my life I could be pricked in bittersweet rose gardens My tongue could be caught on rough salt beauty ocean waves I could bathe ...

he gave me hope a few stollen kisses and so much more than that but where is he now? my love is gone and i feel he was a rat. ...

A message to the world , stop hunting dont move , mother firth said silently, the hunters . there here . the baby chicks stopped there squbbles over a worm ...

whoa. i did not understand a word you said. well, most of it at least. my brain hurts. Old sketchbooks no longer devour birthing landscapes, cloud notes or a resting ...

Ridicule “That’s ridiculous,” she said, and I am wont to agree. Ridicule of the peasant mother, hands grasping the doorframe, sheepishly peering out of her door at her husband and ...

Watching days go by like seconds, As the colour slowly fades, My world is black and grey now, Won’t the troubles leave today? Mondays, Tuesdays, Morning, Night, It blends until ...