Young Writers Society

Raise requiem A body burns tonight Exult your praises to the Elixir of excuses On this closed-door room Stained glasses and stained vision We’re spotless on the casket, Pristine, the ...

Alright, this is an example of "Imagery" Poetry, which is supposed to creative images in your head... if anbody can seriously DEFINE imagery poetry and help me with this, it's ...

August Rain She stood alone, silent in the ruins of her own surrender; she breathed plumes of steam in the bitter Monday daybreak; her body radiated to all around. All ...

Hell is a Place Hell is an over-and-under place; it is fueled with the souls of pilgrims and the tongues of shepherds. The raven crows at twilight for broken water, ...

(Sorry, double-post. )

Up until this point my life has been A collage of empty nights depleting me until I have fragmented nothingness Deep within my heart You, so nameless to the public ...

No more motion activated towel dispensers. No more battery powered toothbrushes. 8 line highways but still cramped, work from home Internet ads oh the T.V We need to do what ...

Bent, and pretending confusion-You moan over the insistence of paid programmingClutching and grippingThe sounds are primordialBut so are weAnd that turns us on.Suddenly there is blissProlonged with ex

That fast mouth, I had one before. The orange peeled hemisphere- it closes you in But I've known that before If you watched the landscapes trickle away would it ever ...

Revised Version: My Fate (rough title, will likely change it later) Floating through the space of life; Follow the yellow brick road. Holding hands with fate, Her touch becomes cold. ...

Speckless blackening gape, Above turrets, towers and escalators Without any greying moon Mazes of terraces and guttering, Chimneys black, emitting no smoke. Rising damp, inadequate pipes Only gardens

(I hate this cute little rhythm, and for it, I apologize.) Empty melodies in frigid air, a taste hollow and lacking will - so fallen on black ashes where they ...

Emily says to me, in a voice so perfect and hushed, that the world never paid her the ears or hearts she's due. The very same hunger and island has ...

I am a slave In the ocean's power For one good wave, I'll work for an hour Just a ittle tidbit. And I really was surfing,like, half an hour ago.

Ode to John Keats Several days after having read "Ode on a Grecian Urn." John Keats nudged my shoulder this morning softly; I grumbled about the hour and looked out ...