My poetry is very vague, and I'm usually the only one that can understand and picture this scene. (well, that's really obvious-- I'm its author) Though once I post a couple of stories (in seperate threads) then you'd probably be more happy. Other than that, be wondered and confused at this first poem.



The Sorrow-Dyed Lake

I come across
The Sorrow-Dyed Lake
As it floats, then descends
It cries; cries out
For the one

What does it yearn?
What does it long?
I look to the sky
The raven's last song

I listen and hear
Is it what it is?
Yes, of course!
The face of the moon

The face of the moon,
The face of the moon,
The lake sighs
As the Sorrow-Dyed Lake
Is now arised

It closes its eyes,
Takes its last breath
As the Lake is now gloomy
Why must that be?
The moon has gone!
I look to the sky
It brightens to dawn

I slowly depart
The Sorrow-Dyed Lake
As it stills, and cries
But naught of sorrow
For it has found
The one

I can kinda picture it...but i guess that won't be a problem. Very nicely rhymed, the rhythm flows perfectly, i see no forcing...good job, but i should probably mention that you could only have one thread in "Your Stuff".

Very very nice. Like ^above^, the writing flows well, and the imagery is strong. It is hard to picture, but that's probably because it's metaphoric and isn't really meant to be understood.

All in all, a very good poem.

__________________

Thank you, thank you. I guess that I can't post all my stories seperately, then. I appreciate you telling me.


This next poem barely rhymes, and I'm sure it won't make sense like before. I shall tell you. You come upon yourself, and ask who you are. It's merely a mental scene on how you ask yourself. And well, the question is known; and it seems that I've already revealed it.

The One of Me

I come to ask
This One of Me
But who is this
One of Me?

Halt, I stop
Before the door
To deliver this
To the One of Me

A gaping surprise
A shout of reluctant
I kneel before
This One of Me
It seems to be
The one of thee

Who is this
One of Me?
It is
The One of You

I came to ask
This One of Me
The question unknown
To those of we

__________________
-Rach- ((Check out my stuff))

it didn't have to rhyme, it had a nice balance to itself. very lovely and i like the idea you had in mind. Good job! *hopes to see more*

It's short. Really short. 'Tis because of homework. The image of this poem is of suicide; a rather... good one, as you wonder. Why, you ask, and I shall get this over with. You're at your mercy, the knife and your chest or throat; this person has very locked up feelings (I know someone who can relate) and for some reason, that knife has freed her from her pain. Now, another wondering I bet you're dying to know the answer of: Why does this person plead?

I'll let you be creative and make the answer yourself. Yes, make.



Knife of Colors

Words of Red,
Emotions of Black,
Must I feel anymore pain?
Heart of Blue,
Sorrows of White,
As I long for hope
Colors put aside
For knives unwritten
I fall to my knees,
Pleads unheard
And the last touch I feel
Are the colors in which
The knife released

Hey. Great writing, you have some great idea's here. Keep up the great work.
Alana

__________________
Lock the last open door,my ghosts are gaining on me...

__________________
-Rach- ((Check out my stuff))

Eh-heh... Thanks a lot for the compliments. ^^ I just can't stop ranting about the ideas of the poems, which ruins it. :[ I'll have a poem up by today.