Young Writers Society

Face paint makes our show that of inkblots. Tossing sabers and fire, talent burns the grass bare As we are behind circus curtains clandestine. Overtime, every pore erupts in sweat ...

A poem I had written when I was going through a few issues with myself, and then had decided to present it to my band in the form of lyrics. ...

Unspoken words, a thousand to think of, each chinks of ice thinning my blood; Steel souls form diadems, flavored saccharine. But as useless as the space between our heartbeats, I ...

My floor is littered with the pages of things left unsaid, muffled voices that still call out from empty closets unceasingly wishing to be heard, but I will not allow ...

Yes, this poem is long, but all critiques are greatly appreciated!!! This really lays open my inner-most feelings, so be thorough and gentle. “Observation from the Back Stair” By K.J. ...

I wrote this little piece for myself. I deem it rather appropriate for today, as I am celebrating my 701 year in Paris, Texas. Sharty, gleaming Sharty Pride of the ...

This is the last time it will be like this. Leaves crinkling underneath my yielding broom as I fight the urge to straddle it, flash a wicked grin and instead ...

I'll be away again for a week, so make sure you give me lots of nice advice and nasty criticism to come back to. Love you all, etc etc blah ...

A storm approaches to strip me of my childhood. I can feel it like the tension in a room, before the exchange of angry words. No longer are there monsters ...

Let it drown away the pain Nothing can harm me from behind this wall This invisible barrier Them foes strike feebly at it b-b-but it cannot touch me My eyes ...

I sit at the dinner table in a room bedecked in age old history Time is a frenzied whirlwind in my ears Tearing past, blurring colors and shapes in its ...

Take me home Mother, take me home. Take me home to the land I was born to the land I call hom Take me home. Father, take me home. Take ...

Tinder and ash. On top of shoes, it slides and whisks off into the corridor-darkness. Fallen masters march these labyrinth halls, hands pocketed, hollow mirth. Outside the window, we all ...

On Spiritos - A Poetic Freewrite: 31 July, 2006 A none too lucid rambling of my subconscious, from a long, long time ago. NRJ-TSR. Enjoy! . . . I’ve found ...

Invisible, I disappear into my mental gloom. Unseen, I creep into the sweet haven of my room. I feel as though I soon shall fade from memory and from thought. ...