Young Writers Society

Sunlight coats the icicles that cling to our gutters. I sigh, knowing they won’t disappear for another six weeks, probably more. The kids across the street learn that, when making ...

The cold kiss of a blade, The sharpened edge descending His life, my love, is ending It’s too late for love my dear. Sorrows stream down my face, Endlessly descending, ...

War is the systematic slaughter of the innocent,.....tied and bound under what is considered......sometimes as mass genocide,......politicians wage wars, so do......tyrants command armies to wars cour

Dark matter clouds the synapses that once allowed you to love me. I used to sit on the rim of your glasses as we drank constellation wine, connecting dots in ...

A sunset, gold and blue A purple-silk wrapped debut Tracks across the western sky God in nature glorified The ocean waves crest and wash Against a line that's never crossed ...

This is my first posting of a poem or a story or anything. I'm not quite sure on the puncuation so if you have any advice let me know. Thanks! ...

She took her raisin hands and brushed coiled scars and barbed curls from my hitchhiking eyes. "Destination is always nowhere in a hurry." Peddlers whistle so fast only dog's ears ...

....a train lowing What does it mean, to low?in a star-plucked field, This is pretty, but it means very little, besides perhaps "separated from fate". But judging by the fact ...

fuck him. is what you'd think I'd say but I'm too caught up with yesterday. only he can sing those memorable suicidal serenades with his lullabies to paralyze and heavy ...

Brown sweat on my fingerprints, I wipe acoustics’s brow again with a rag from the stranger's Levi jeans. It's stained with holy water and blotches the souls we've bled profuse ...

a ghost lingers in the doorway silently watching and listening to the lives that flow around it it. . . or him I cannot tell which but sometimes in the ...

Finally, more of Incan's poetry! Hurrah for opium? I'm guessing the way everything seems to be somewhat over-dramatized ("O crepuscular angel, O my filthy licorice: Make my body/ the soft ...

If the pen could capture the sound of your voice, would it draw the sky for me? Moon and Sun? The sky as seen from a Babel unfinished, gray light ...

Allow yourself perchance to dream for seam upon seam of this world is unyielding to all of our happenstance themes. Call I a Jesus, who overseas dwells in a world ...

If I cut out my heart you can have it If I capture my soul you can keep it All I ask is for my lips So I can say ...