Galerius

Not a bad poem but not a very good one either, mostly because of how vague it was. I think I see what the theme of the poem is but ...

Read on only if you appreciate truly honest reflection. First of all, since you are only fourteen, the problems in this piece aren't permanent to any extent and you have ...

Sewers run red with blood. Un-speakable evil’s walk the street. In search of fresh meat. Right now, this is playing out like a bad Resident Evil game. I don't know ...

First of all, know that since you are only 13, this type of writing is to be expected and no matter how harsh my critique may sound, you do have ...

This is good. Pastoral quality mixed in with some romantic luster of the cigarette-induced streets and you have what appears to be a tasteful combination. I have only one suggestion ...

Do you have the courage? The courage that it takes to stand, to stand alone. I feel that the repetition is cooked to black here; it's well to express a ...

Rain falling, Dreams revealed, Power becoming known, Everything happens at dawn. Strange interspersing of honestly refreshing images mixed in with vague ideas that have no substance unless attached wi

In this hellish night, darkness calls. Moonlight burns, bodies fall. Once a night for saints and nuns. Now of terror, the end has begun. Is this true? I always thought ...

When you were awake You were as lively As a waterfall. Your laughs were as Good as the sound of gold Your advice was better Than that of any adage. ...

Fire a bullet through a window and in a split second, it will shatter in a blind storm of glass. The decision is irrevocable, the moment lost to eternity. The ...

It’s happened before. Can it happen again? It didn’t work out before, Will it work out now? I wasn’t ready then, But am I ready now? You've mega-ultra-supercharged this with ...

I always wanted what you had; stealing down shadow-ways to snatch at - discarded bottle caps. The hypen there after "to snatch at" is unnerving because there seems to be ...

The strike of a fist. The tie of a rope. The wail of fear. The bang of a gun. And the aftermath is red. These verbs are poorly thrown together ...

Ghostly silk sheets hang over the moon, Dimming the little light. No one else is here, Shattering my little hope. The word "Shattering" ruins the beginning. The poem seems to ...

I approach the heart, freedom in hand among the revellers in reverence, timed in their laughter. Hope sitting gingerly, tickling the sun in open heartache, The flow that was building ...