A/N: I had to write this for an American Lit assignment. It had to be modeled after Walt Whitman's 'I Sit and Look Out'. I basically just bullshitted my way through this, and made up a bunch of nice-sounding sentences an strung them together and got a 100... (This teacher was a real jackass, so I kinda felt like a won some sort of battle with this...)

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

I sit and look out, awaiting my ride.

I see past the brightness and warmth of my reflected room, into the unforgiving night.

I stand, impatient by the door, straining to hear the sound of wooden wheels on the stone.

I hope the ride is quick, but the return even quicker. (I don’t wish to stay.)

I might be kept only a moment longer until-

I hear a knock a knock upon my door, and on the threshold is he, my carriage, to whisk me into the night.

I take his offered hand, soft, but cold, and he leads me, so politely, and tips his hat.

I blush. These last remnants of color fade into nothing but grief and pallor.

I look into his eyes, glassless windows of the soul, mirrored back to me, and those eyes were my own.

Even now, as I lie in my bed of undying roses in erected tombs of forgotten lore, I think of lives past and wonder if life has passed me.

Silence invades my slowing thoughts. O! The pervading silence of the lost souls. Forgotten.