
The sprirituality of life can not be seen, but only written. How do we define our sorrow and our laughter without the ability to read and write?
Rated: Fiction T - English - Fantasy/Drama - Chapters: 5 - Words: 817 - Reviews: 4 - Updated: 06-08-12 - Published: 05-01-12 - id: 3018465
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Hello, I'm Cryonic-Zephyr and this is going to be my first poetry book, mainly based on fantasy. I quite enjoy poetry, as it allows me to express my feelings. (Wow, cliché much!) I will try to update weekly with different poems, yet it depends on whether I'm busy or not. Please R&R, constructive criticism will help me improve my writing!
Deception starts with a cloaked figure
That whispers words of wrong
He turns you into a mischievous being
And the breathes the word of a song
"Forget love and joy, now turn to dark"
"Disobey all rules that you follow"
"Promises are meant to be broken, and hearts are meant to be hollow"
In a wisp of smoke, he clears your head
A plays with you, like a puppet
He turns you against those peaceful friends
And tells you never to stop it
Against your will, he keeps you captive
Forever under his control
If only you didn't listen to that awful man
Your life would be a complete whole
Echoed evil, loathsome light
White winters, a freedom fight
Buried below, in soft snow
A chosen chance, a bloodstained bow
Prophecies predict, a curious cold
Falling feathers, terrors told
Bursting beauty, aurored air
Sunshine singled, home now bare
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