I haven't uploaded anything here for AAAAAAAAAAAAGES, but I unearthed this poem and thought I'd throw it up. I wrote it...probably about a year ago. Another one of those "EVERY FRICKIN' THING IS A METAPHOR" poems, even the title. :P

I saw between them to a yellow blind,

and there was wrath inside their minds.

Picture-tinted and blue-lined light,

changed white to black and black to white.

Those hands of stone will never make,

the paper bird will always take

until the thrice rung bronze breaks day,

but there was sun beneath that grey.

In sounding halls of merciless stone,

an echo of dark sky walks alone.

Gone in a moment, a whisper in time

shells lace the fire of the mind