Young Writers Society

`HolyA charm was laid upon my face And ne'er more did the ApostlesRun – Apostle run, Apostle run! And It was done – I was none of them. `I thought ...

This is the poem version of the Edgar Allen Poe story, Eleanora. It was an assignment for obsession, yes, as many may guessBut love is not my fault.For a tale ...

Between the white mansions and the little shackswalks a man of olden waysSome say he holds the spirit of GuthrieNo, he’s just a remnant of bygone daysA thousand years and ...

Hey everyone, this is written in sonnet form, but I know it doesn't fit a sonnet theme. The man stumbled into the empty barSo very tired, yet so wide awakeA ...

This is one of the poems I wrote for our English subject.- - - - - - -I look at the screen for things to doTrying to think of something ...

A hallucinated narrative Misery with no comparativeBe warned of such a saddening featureA tale of a subtle creatureA gloomy thing, so meek, and smallA little If, inside a ballTrapped between ...

yeah so i posted the unfinshed poem ages ago and i can't find it :roll: so i decided to post it again only finished. enjoy and comment please :) A ...

I have found a glimpse of lifeThrough the content of the bottle,It’s cool smooth liquid thatEvokes a burning sensation. My thoughts had been obsessiveRefusing to let my mind rest,Dwelling constant ...

Again I visit the sacred place I have created Led to by my circumstantial beingWith the scenario, as always, playing out In its routine, which itself has fallen into the ...

Staring out the windowWaiting for the endWhen does the bell ringSo you can go see your friends.Playing on the quad The ball bounces off the endA football game on the ...

The Wind and the Falcon GreyAt the right momentIn time,When the wind blowsIn air,Listen closelyFor the windHas been knownTo tell tales.I sat thereOnce On a summers day.And I listened,For a ...

I could not cry that day. After nights spent sobbing into comfortless pillows and my father’s thick arms, I could not stir a single makeshift tear from my eyes.I remember ...

the little blue flowers have appeared again, taste-testing, unrollingthemselves, like pillbugs in the palm of a very still hand and you cansee them through the window in the kitchen with ...

Lil’ Fish Island was a strange lil’ place,With skies of sapphire blueAnd water so clear that it seemed a reflectionOf the heavens above reigning true.Here the fish weaved through cattails ...

She runs through the mud on the stagnant breeze that drags the wavering heat,along with the harsh suffering,and as she passes the ramshackle huts,cries of childbirth trickle throughthe wooden slats,ea