Young Writers Society

Floral wreaths and such, just carelessly green.

The way of life or the stone in the mill?

Always almost laughable, but then their light half; lightning and wonder.

The teacher and her students, always ready for a challenge

Some days, cold, snow quiet.

Yesterday, today and tomorrow, live your life.

Live is a verb...

Birds of Africa South of the Sahara.

We forest fairies, we infinite branches; infinite roots, we fire-tested, and storm-lasted; always and growth; forever and a day - the life of a tree; unending, unending, unending.

Yes.

We, feathered-fairies, under the guise of sunlight, with twisted wing and mournful-song... we, friends of the air, we, nests among sunbeams, we, never-never gone, we, never-never fire, we never-never ash, we never-never yesterday - only air, only breaths, only flight, only tomorrow.

there days, melodious and glorious, while there days, full of cacophony and dissonance. Such the music of life, yet we...on and on...we here

the bird 500 leagues under the ocean's surface, wings-almost-gill-like, almost-angel-like, a parable for heaven, and the song unsung under my soul's surface - 500 leagues deep, lungs-almost-water-logged, almost-sea-sunk; so many many dreams upon the ocean floor.

You and me-we friends.

YWS: a beautiful community for writers, a home to chickens and batfish, an adventurous land of roleplaying and poetry and more.

a perfect sentence spearmint!