Young Writers Society

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 ...

Life is like the ocean It loves to play about Sometimes full of joy or sorrow Sometimes full of doubt Life is like the ocean Life is like the sea ...

My grandparents' walls are covered with clocks, and the memoirs of their ship: Invictus, reads the anchor on the coffee table. They sailed around the world before I was born, ...

I see from the inside out Though no one else believes me I just can't help but wonder Do my eyes deceive me? They see an object of desire A ...

they splutter The Old Lie into our beer caked speakers at this open mic night, every man with bohemian rhapsody splattered down their tux and ties, every lady batting mascara ...

We snap our fingers into flame, calling for another shot to douse our heathen throats in tequila spirits; stumbling off our moral equator, that runs just south of Jalisco. Dipping ...

Sorry this is a rough draft!!!! Love and trust Is a wounderful experience Faith Emotional rollarcoaster

Is it enough to feel? Waking up flat-backed in the woodwork of my coffin, and I can smell that you were here. After bleeding from the sides where you used ...

My fingers flutter. The keys glisten with the color of age – Yellow. Yellow like the sun, That casts light on the music. Each note is lovely and perfect in ...

Father, I am afraid I will never make you proud, I am not the perfect child you sought hard to protect and guide, I have chosen to do things you ...