Young Writers Society

Sup?

The ceiling is made of pudding. The last word is made of pie. And it's mineeee.

Heyho!

Hello dinosaur that sings ivy songs and hides in sandwiches. How do you do?

*waves dazedly*

With another day done, the final light comes and goes with the moon.

Charge!

The sun is a blotch against the navy-blue eyes of the day, and it fades away to a lingering crest of misfortune until all these chords are struck senseless and everything we say is without meaning.

Ladida. I am an owl. Watch me go beep bloop and bam.

A baby owl,
Whose name was Blanch,
Perched idlely on a narrow branch.

A dead fish
That swims in the ocean
Of death

What is this
Poetry
My trellis bleeds?

I don't know what it is
But I do know
That I have the last word

The last word
Is a crystal abyss
Of soya-sauce.

When the night falls
The moon the last light
Death comes to all

My poetry is not my own,
Tis simply a quotation,
Of captain beaky and his band,
This is my explanation.

This is getting dreary
Writing poetry on this
Just to get
The last word