forum Poems and Excerpts and Such
Started by @Natasha
tune

people_alt 9 followers

@Crisis

There used to be a fire

Burning in my hands

Flaming at my fingertips

And making shadows dance

There used to be a voice

Singing in my ear

I miss the happy tunes and melodies

That fled out of fear

There used to be a garden

Blossoming in my soul

But alas, it saw the darkness come

And they show themselves no more

There used to be a lively girl

Who shared and danced and sang

But then she realised she wasn't herself anymore

And that's when the darkness came

@Angel with a music box

"Be quiet" the whispers tell her,
As she stands on the snowy bank,
"Be quiet" they all surround her,
As her hopes dropped and sank,
"Speak not a word of your name or place,
And let him see not your thoughts,
For misery, death, suffering, starvation,
And envy his reign has wrought,"
But she ignored all their please, and she sent them away,
And waited in snow for her love,
He never arrived, and her tears turned to ice,
And her soul left to ascend above.

(I have absolutely no idea, it just came to me)

@StarkSpangledMayflower_Mad_Elder

Eyes full of tears as she watches him leave, yet not a drop falls
Arms wide open, warm and welcoming, yet he still turns his back
Heart feeling weak, for long it has suffered, yet no sound comes from within
Staring at her love, she stands in the room, forever frozen

@Angel with a music box

Are you coming up with these on the spot because that's amazing. I usually put a lot of (sometimes too much) thought into everything I write.

On the spot mostly, I just find that if I make it up right then and there it tends to turn out better :)

@Angel with a music box

Ok, this one is really weird and kind of dark. I wrote it about the four horsemen of the apocolypse, so it's War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death. Sorry if it's too weird
On a steed with black eyes and shrouded with red,
Harsh sounding footprints,
Behind trails the dead,
The rider hides face, and wears long a cape,
With sword on his hip,
And a swaggering gait,
His breastplate shines bright in the dusty sundown,
With blood-splattered boots,
And gold helmet for crown.
In his wake billows uniforms, and bullet-torn chests,
And heart-broken families,
As he rides from the west.

On a staggering mare, with deep sunken eyes,
With wobbly knees,
And ribs sharp as knives.
Sits a man with bare feet, and thin strands of hair,
Baggy torn clothes,
And a dark shifting stare,
Behind him runs skeletons, with thinly draped skin,
With hollowed out cheeks,
And songs of their sins,
Cracked smiling lips adorn hollow, old, face,
As he comes from the east,
With a slow, wilting pace.

On a rusty old stallion, riddled with worms,
Blind in one eye,
As bald patches form,
Rides a man doubled over, with watery eyes,
With cracked yellow skin,
Upturned face to the skies,
His clothes stained with sweat, the sick trail behind,
Crying for help,
But none do they find,
Red splattered collar, with a grin just the same,
He rides on laughing,
As they call out his name,
Piles of bodies, as vile sprays from his mouth,
Weakly they cry,
As he rides from the south.

A pure white colt, with bare back and free stride,
Trots calmly and slow,
As a boy walks beside,
With black cloak, and black hair, and black eyes between,
With a soft regal gaze,
And a complexion serene,
He says not a word, and skips not a step,
But smiles like sugar,
With each stolen breath,
Silent tears trail behind, mixed with laughter and praise,
As he slowly moves on,
Through the starry night haze,
They all know his name, though none see his face,
Half know his touch,
And describe it like lace,
The colt goes on slowly, as it sways back in forth,
Thousands did weep,
When he came from the North.