Young Writers Society

this is how our love ends; nostalgia won't save us from tomorrow: there are too many fragments to collect crumbling words speak volumes. we are separated by history; the waters ...

hey, i wrote this poem awhile ago and i redid a lot of it, mostly to your comments. let me know what you think about the changes. thanks! Envious thief- ...

A small child falls and Mother’s there, To tend a hurt knee with loving care. She’d dry the tears and hug them tight, Soon they’d forget their plight. A small ...

The equivalent of an island adrift in a passionate sea: we are the rock of reason sinking into what the senses lack --imagination. An oil spill that ebbs and flows ...

You open the door, yeah it's her. lying there on the floor. Do you know why? Because you hit her for the last time today, and she said she wouldn't ...

Oh love, I do dream of you often. Always the same: vodka stains on my dress, your teeth gritted like the night terror that grinds upon my eyes. When I ...

As I lay my soul to die. Some may cheer and others cry. As my blood is washed away A prayer is said, remember today! Shed no tears for me ...

I'm on your front lawn, head between my knees, whispering prayers into the soil that's been scuffed up by my pacing feet -- It's been hours, now and three feet ...

The silence is a room you’ve moved into, with jaundiced wallpaper and iron cast windows that don’t quite keep the draft out --or the light in. Here the whispering is ...

We drop our prayers into the mirrored blue and watch them ripple out in arcs across the stars, because here we are never more than inches below gravity, rattling the ...

Frost on a windowpane Delicate as a rose, Cold as a tumbling waterfall Fragile as our impermanent lives. Fireworks on New Years Eve Bright as the eye of a child ...

okay so I know not everyone here watches anime but I did write this for Al. for people that read this and don't get what it means. well long story ...

Incandescence wrote:I once shrugged from his touch, flinchingas his moist breath hit my skin. Few words lingeredin my throat as my bones turned to cinderand his fingertips became as snow ...

I know it. I feel it. I breath it. It never stops gnawing away at me. I shake myself to cast out the demons, but Guilt never leaves; it sticks ...

And with her artists' tool she scribed Her masterpiece of art The curlicues and pirouettes bleeding from her heart With unknown grace The ink seeped out But never too too ...