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Literature
The Fall of Epithilinon
I
Let no man speak of wars whence
No answer graced our call,
Let man remember gods thence
Gods, watchful of our fall;
Speak in silenced sighs, men,
Dead men hither sleep,
No flag here flails, amen, amen!
Who can ever beweep
Our brethren in the deep.
II
Frightened colours breached the sky,
The church bells played a dirge;
The bustling hills and vales so nigh
In crimson rage did merge,
Archers with crescents held high
Keen arrows fell like sin,
The portcullis in sorrow, shy
Interred our fathers in
The last grave of our kin.
III
Wailed the night in thunder blare;
The mangonels did come,
Lonely trumpets singed the air
When Earth ravished our ho
Literature
You Will Not Read This
When a writer puts his soul and passion into his work.
It will go unnoticed, often because of its length.
It is a rather sad fact, but a truth nonetheless.
For the simple emotions conveyed in just a few words,
Often hold more sway with those who are emotionally swayed.
There is no depth of the heart, nor a single thought spared.
For the effort placed into a piece that forgoes the winning edge,
For a hint of true meaning.
You will not read this piece and I will not expect you to.
It will not be popular or famous, nor will it see the light of day.
For length is the bane of true poetry,
And that is why so many of my kin have already l
Literature
wednesday's child
it is the third of october
and i am building a castle for us
out of feathers, bird bones,
ocean waves and library book pages.
anything to keep our feet from
touching the ground.
you are sin, he whispers
and his fingers trail cold fire
down my side, scorching flesh
and freezing bone;
brittle pieces of me shatter
as they hit the stained linoleum floor.
don't wake me from this nightmare.
i whisper a nursery rhyme
as i walk down our
autumn path.
kamikaze leaves fall, trailing
fire as they throw themselves from
the branches, down, down,
to cold pavement below.
your words echo in my mind
a constant reminder
that i am sin
but you,
you were
ne
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Took me nearly 2 hours to write this. This must be one of my longest poems ever written by me that is not in multiple parts. I really wanted to try and write a ghost poem with a twist and I believe I succeeded in my attempt. There's quite a lot that goes on in the narrative. It's a bit like having a poem within a poem at times especially when the stranger is speaking.
This actually started off a simple rhyming past-time for a bit of fun to pass the time away. I could have written this is a free-verse poem, but I felt it suited being a more traditional fixed form poem instead.
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