Young Writers Society

Some readers may remember me as someone who began to write a sci-fi story, but never got past the prologue, something which I will continue to blame writer's block for. I'm afraid that particular story shall remain postponed until I become a sci-fi addict again for, you see, I am someone whose interests change dramatically every few weeks, only to revert back to what they were before after a few more dramatic changes. Perhaps that indicates that I have a low concentration span, or, perhaps, it means I am insane. I don't care, I am proud to be interested in whatever I am interested in at any time and will pursue those interests as far as I care to do so while I am still interested.

Right, crazy rant over. My new interest is poetry, something I have had only a little experience with. This is my first piece of poetry, excluding a few lost and forgotten pieces written at school prior to Key Stage 4. Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Anyway, here goes:


The Last Summer

Freely, we travelled about, to places untravelled,
Gaily, we danced and played, until weariness took over,
Happily, we talked and laughed, released our imprisoned fears,

Our beloved elders looked at the time,
Their perfectly cooked dinner now cold,
And waited by the phone,
Silence, Worry, Anger.

Faithfully, we accepted everyone as our friend,
Contentedly, we acquainted ourselves with the unknown,
Graciously, we settled old scores, forgave our enemies,

Our respected tutors saw the reports,
And they coldly accepted the mantle of judge,
They sent the failures away,
Disappointment, and Tears.

A lucky half of elites did come back
To the home many did so revile.
Their happiness had been founded
Not on their luck, nor skill,
But by the freedom of the previous summer.

And now they enter The Last Summer
Of their lives.
Founded on the misfortunes of the unfortunate,
They are ignorant of their place in the world.
Let them have their fun-before the winter begins.

But the winter that follows The Last Summer,
Is not a natural winter.
It shall be everlasting.
But is every winter miserable?
No, but the summer is our last chance to harvest.

The Last Summer shall be a long lasting summer.
But once it's flame dies, it shall not be reborn.