Young Writers Society

When Your Mind Was Empty The way it used to be You'd sit at the desk Feathered pen in heavy hand Waiting for the words to come Waiting for inspiration. ...

This is very much a story poem, with some prose stuffed in. Thursdays It must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays. - Arthur Dent, Hitchhiker's Guide ...

I wrote this song on the guitar to a soft wandering minor melody. I like the way it sounds as a song, but I'm not sure if it's any good ...

the sun rise above the horizon, and darts between the clouds orange lights turn the sky on sun shining out loud day rushes by, through time and space time seems ...

black balloons pop splattering sin all over this D-day parade, where we march, skulls on baton heads, our bloodshot eyes begging "heavenly light, fall down on me." Trapped between two ...

Christmas Time That favorite time of year is here The one you spend with family dear Shopping, wrapping, sending, giving Laughing. Loving, eating, wishing Christmas cheer is all around Presents ...

Goodbye It’s not easy To say the word It hurts inside Feeling torn Leaving’s hard Cause everything’s behind But it’s ok You’ll be fine I believe in you Like you’ve ...

I feel like something is missing. As many crits as possible please, I am very open-minded about this one. Editing suggestions in as we go along I’ve never felt as ...

self affliction I fear, I crave yet in my heart I know it can't go on everlasting lust I fear, I crave yet in my mind I know it can't ...

My mother I love her she is beautiful, even glowing but her soul is pleading for release her charades hurt I must understand she needs her space My mother has ...

They know not of my age nor do they care the influence of despoliation induces hatred my criminal ravishment permeates through me feelings profound shadows flaunt freedom my hysteria is ...

here I am once again, singing out of tune dancing without rythym painting without paint flying without wings kissing the non existant youth oh sweet sir may I interest you ...

Don't even bother.. Maggots fed the hollows in my heart, writhing to the strumming acoustics that resonate from your melody. Bereft of those late nights, those drunk second-rate nights, I ...

Tiny white knuckles, gentle baby's knees. The way that changing a foul diaper never offends. True baby's breath. Not as flowery as a bouquet, but just as sweet, and twice ...

Again, all thoughts and comments are appreciated. The middle section doesn't seem to be working that well, but I've no ideas on how to fix it. The food imagery is ...