Young Writers Society

Aye, well. Criticism appreciated; I like the idea on this one, want to make it as good as possible. SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY MASSACRE Today I am the terrorist of love, ...

Today I met a lady with pupils that bled, Not blood, but space That immeasurable void. They bled out down her face (her pupils that is) Past the gash of ...

I'm not sure about this one, but it seems all right. her eyes began to water turning red from the pain it brought back memories of those who lost their ...

Flawless pale skin, Encasing a wild and crazy soul That leaks, Slowly but surely From the little slashes upon her wrist. A permanent crease, Above the eyebrows, (That tattletales on ...

Well I've always said your descriptions are well, and here you tend to prove that again, which you did, quite well indeed. I don't quite envy the whole structure here ...

Yes, I'm back into writing poetry again - I've spent a long time reading other poetry, perfecting my style, and editing this poem. I hope it's better than my last ...

Will it ever occur to you, -figuratively speaking- the sundown, which saluts the massive damp, The radiance exposing that coral tint, shatters the navy atmosphere? Take notice By the horizon ...

‘See that hill, the one hidden away, out of sight? If you sit and wait, quiet-like, watching till night, You might see something few have seen before, A rare vision ...

I used to think the only way that time flew was to throw my alarm out the window. On those cold and bitter nights I wake to find My soft ...

Okay, this is basically my first attempt at poetry. If it's bad, please tell me. If there is something I can fix, please tell me. A flake of impure white ...

Dear Mom, I can’t come home, Not yet, And I know you’re angry at me For just taking off Like I did, But I swear, Mom, I’m working things out, ...

Lonely Write a poem that brings me warmth in december friends in a school day silence when I dream send me thoughts I can hold to phrases I can dwell ...

Poor supplicant begs at her master’s door for love; for she is tired and hungry, and one kind word will feed her for a month. Poor sorry girl, in bare ...

Look who is writing poetry again; ME! lamentation for priory girls give me your woven road, paper-daisy girl and your calloused-conclusions of devotion. he loves me, he loves me not...he ...

My dear, sweet Brooke Leighann So many times I've wished for your hand Your words were cruel but your touch was soft I’d give and I’d give but it was ...