Young Writers Society

I’m sitting in a blackened room Tying knots in golden thread The smile that I’m lying in Is glossed with my glittered lead And you’ve found me all but dead ...

Here are the fabled laurel leaves A smile, when it’s fading – Golden in the threadbare past While you constructed little ditties They knocked together temples of stone But now ...

wow i loved the poem. i really liked how you did the little intro-thing, which his what i guess you could call it. it was great and set the point ...

Okay this is the first poem that I have submitted to YWS and it just happened to pop into my head when I was at school in the most boring ...

When the world keeps spinning out of control, You must know that you can request no troll Because he has just thrown you about, Maybe even stuffed you right full ...

I haven't really posted anything in ages... I just thought I'd share you this. It's something I might do for English... or well, will help me improve if I write ...

this is my first ever poem so constructive and honest feedback would be good! A Land where the skies are as blue as the seas, A Land where man walk ...

I don't even have a working title for this yet, but I wanted to start getting this up here before I started getting messages from people asking when it was ...

Chapter one A low rumbling in the distance brought Squall Leonharts green piercing eyes to the eastern sky. The clouds were a ghostly grey and threating to spill rain at ...

I would post the chords but I don't feel like it. Just know that it's in the key of C. Intro Ah Ah, Ah Ah, Ah Ah, Ah Ah Verse ...

Johann passed a note to his classmate behind him. “Psst,” he whispered, “Give this to Sieglinde.” Johann pretended to read his book. He gulped and loosened the tightness of his ...

Time stopped February twentieth. Tests taken, processed— seven warning signs predicted their results. Let it rip through disease like a knife in tender flesh: morphine, radiation, burn it out, take ...

I hate her. I hate the way she thinks, rethinks, thinks again without stopping, pounding through my brain like a restless tornado tearing through Oklahoma farmland barns. I hate the ...

This is some poetic blabber that I came up with while reading Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle. I hope you enjoy, even if you haven’t read the book… if you haven’t ...

Note: some names have been changed...all right, all, or most. [pre] Just before dinner, the preparatory clatter of dishes and silverware could be heard in the kitchen. The evening sun ...