Young Writers Society

Tears slowly falling, Scars all over my heart, You want me to feel this pain. My love slowly dies, My heart begins to ache, My soul slowly leaving me. You ...

So I'm sat here on my ass. Listening to all your trash. I've a feeling, I don't know, Something deeper than A dynamo. I feel like whistling along, Singing the ...

I wrote the title for this poem and then came up with something totally different from what I had originally intended, so in that way the title is open to ...

I'm wearing no trousers, and thinking about painting, the shed or the fence. But in my defence, I got nothing much better To do. Pitchfork! A tree full of crows, ...

Brad, What a heap of tripe. Trying to be experimental, by studying a dictionary isn't art. Words of advise- learn how to write meaningful poetry, poetry that everyone can appreciate. ...

She's the last moment of a short pencil, Wasted on paper till disintegration. She's the last call when I ain't even numb yet. She's creeping flames up my legs, When ...

Butterflies Thousand of butterflies swirl like a milkmaid churning butter. Up. Down. Ceaseless whirling. Devouring my heart- tickling it with their antennae. Crash. Boom. Bang. Goodbye butterflies.

Time Your time is not my time, but my time is Yours. What is eternity? Is it a hallowed-out turtle shell, completely void of straight edges? Is it a (vibrant) ...

Here's another short, repetitive poem. I actually am beginning to like this style of poetry, now the key is to not overuse it. (Main task now is to figure out ...

To suffer is To feel what You have no wish to feel To want to sink forever Into a dark oblivion... To die slowly, Painfully Knowing no one cares Knowing ...

I look into the light, Its shine is too bright! It's unsettling and painful. My eyes are stinging so bad. I try to turn my head, but it's too addicting. ...

I was dragged away with many others to be Tortured Murdered Exterminated Still they deny it happened. I can still remeber being packed up with others like an animal in ...

I searched for the holy father, The mighty divinity; I found my God in a mirror, He was smiling back at me. I looked for the deepest of truths, For ...

Today the sixth of March, the rushing Tiber staggers ‘cross the rocky mountain groves and moves towards the somber valley of Casentino. Artistic talent wielded in his hand, he wrought ...

I enjoyed it, though I'm trying to pick out its incest...I see it, slightly, but barely. Though, I struggle to understand things like this. What struck me the most was ...