Oh, this seems like fun. I`ll go a little freeform...
_______
Rippling starbeams shoot colors across the heavens.
Wild flowers lay on the shore of the river.
My face enclosed in a veil of silence as a pale moonlight shines from betwixt the corners of my eyes.
And you? Dreaming of a wafting mist of emerald clouds in which to hide away? Searching for the firefly who lost his spark? No words; yet spoken clearly. My arms sway like branches in the wind, reaching out to touch the sunset.Filling peace surrounds and suffocates, alighting on my brow in the form of a dove, who lulls with a sweet and empty melody.Time develops form, evaporates, and I am dust._______Heh. Maybe that`s a little TOO freeform, but... eh.
Daft is the fool, Through no other tool, He blatantly exposes, Forever eroding away, The sense of pain that made his name, Allowed to be the same, Never unchanged, For that was the claim.
He bore down, Grew Sound, Blasting it out as if to be a lot,More and more he found no round,Straight as he shot,Failing was not,Bast of the soul,Man was born,And so was the sore,Gaping,But never degrading,Only recreating.Him self.
But I'll post a poem...eventually
_______
Rippling starbeams shoot colors across the heavens.
Wild flowers lay on the shore of the river.
My face enclosed in a veil of silence as a pale moonlight shines from betwixt the corners of my eyes.
And you? Dreaming of a wafting mist of emerald clouds in which to hide away? Searching for the firefly who lost his spark?
No words; yet spoken clearly. My arms sway like branches in the wind, reaching out to touch the sunset.Filling peace surrounds and suffocates, alighting on my brow in the form of a dove, who lulls with a sweet and empty melody.Time develops form, evaporates, and I am dust._______Heh. Maybe that`s a little TOO freeform, but... eh.
There once was a nice juicy orange
.... damn it!
But I can't write poems so
I'll write a haiku
:P
Through no other tool,
He blatantly exposes,
Forever eroding away,
The sense of pain that made his name,
Allowed to be the same,
Never unchanged,
For that was the claim.
He bore down,
Grew Sound,
Blasting it out as if to be a lot,More and more he found no round,Straight as he shot,Failing was not,Bast of the soul,Man was born,And so was the sore,Gaping,But never degrading,Only recreating.Him self.
Haiku haiku hai
Haiku haiku haiku hai
Haiku haiku hai