Young Writers Society

Alone, I stand in the shadowy autumn dusk A sweetness tasted in the air, remains; And the evening smells of softest, darkest, musk. To leave this place would break me ...

I drink your words. Your voice is my scripture to this sick religion. Our world is sicker. We are trapped here. Where God is love, God gives life, life is ...

Sweet sadist, the alarm clock that beats inside my heart Ticks away the minutes until we meet once more No sleeping pill, no shield of eyes would hold my slumber ...

Forever to thine eyes they soul shall plead Until the stars of heaven murder dark And thus 'til death they wounds of labor bleed And thou shalt heal whenst thine ...

You're burning the cigarette down to the butt this week, allowing cinders to fall on our shoes. flicking three weeks of sparks from your therapy session at my shaking silhouette ...

She hides under her "Emo" face Says she doesn't need saving grace Says she is content living a life in a pit but everytimes she tells this truth Her hearts ...

The Hope of Imagination Amid the flowers of Imagination I met her smile And we walked, and talked For just a little while. I will see her soon again, And ...

I miss her words The song is faded No longer heard A little jaded I miss her words But not for one moment Do I suspect That the Muse is ...

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Out of the well-oiled body slide sleek, dark chocolate blades, churning gold-wrought wavering circles in the grey-greeny shadows of the glades. The crackle-paint feet are revving, the bubbles are issu

My eyes filled with tears I cannot shed, my arms cry instead there crimson tears. Wanting to die with nowhere to hide, my only way out is to bleed. Why ...

Green lights or red lamps, lava or black apples -- 473 ways to look pretty and the taste of fresh fiction on your tongue. Happiness whirs on a color wheel, ...

Have you seen my love? My heart? It ran away from home last year. Perhaps you’ve glimpsed it from the highway, trying to hitchhike a ride to California, or maybe ...

Metal fork, sick yellow. Scrambled eggs sprinkled with salt, the critique at the tip of your tongue. The topic is so direct that you are hidden behind your wall of ...

I wrote this for an english class assignment. I don't usually write too much poetry, so I'd appreciate any advice you have to give Tall, they stand in rows- Erect ...