Young Writers Society

Our hearts sing a lively tune of young love. Faster, faster, Our hearts knitted together like a warm wool sweater, Your hands; heart - keeping me warm, A cold winter's ...

The black is frozen on the white; straight lines and perfect curves: once they’re there, they’re there. (Oh, you can hide them from sight, although, unlike a cat, they live ...

Now its my time to go On to different places in the world To find new discoveries But this isn't why I am leaving. I am leaving because I hate ...

I wrote this a while ago when i was frustrated with people doing stupid things in my school. Rejoice, rejoice, we are rising so rejoice. Rejoice parents, Let your wrinkled ...

*this song just sort of popped into my head. I've included the music, so if you're at all musically minded, you'll get a rough idea of the tune (btw # ...

Early morning Monday, The harsh reality of life Emerges from our weekend fantasies, And bites us Hard. Harshly real Monday, Work, work work, While the elastic week Stretches further and ...

The Pen is Mightier then the Sword With your fist You strike a blow Upon man's cheek To let blood flow No brain to converse No heart to listen All ...

I weave characters by day... Spin plot lines at night... I form a web of lies and deceit, masked in letters... Ink is my thread... Paper is my foundation... I ...

WHAT AM I? What am I? Not Who am I? Less obvious than A grain of sand in a sandbox, Like a drop of water in the sea, Or like ...

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Beneath the rose nothing is repeated. Mouths and eyes and ears are stitched shut surgically and what has been mounted on the doorway never wilts, never droops; needles, like diamonds, ...

If you're wondering what I'm talking about, putting it up on my blog directly... Chips The taste of the seaside still on your lips. The crinkling brown bag, That oldest ...

Sharpen your swords on the grey rocks of pride. Those tongues of yours even go to scraping the hot asphalt.

Doubtfulness When you have a loving heart, you have every right to sing. To laugh to play to have some fun you can do anything. When you have a broken ...

Ars Poetica And when we were but children of our own paradise, Did we not hear such lovely sounds as pierce the night When we waked to see the stars ...