I love writing and reading poems, not so much the classics these days but knew fresh stuff I find that exciting. New styles and new ideas. Some people paint, or write books or do crafts to get the inside out, me I do poetry and read the inside of folk I love to write fun and nature poems the best though.
alone in my bed I lay still not able to pray I close my eyes to a world unknown cobwebs etched in the very fabric of my existence alone helpless with demonic bites viscous fangs with long stemmed dripping blood
THE WHIRLING STORM OF EVIL From the dark recluse in my thatched mud hut I barricaded myself; with the palm of my hands pressing tightly against my ears, vainly trying to shut out the mournful tune of the dirge playing
Before some three or four-odd days Began the nature show some craze. The people, truly afraid, to say, Nowhere did find a place to stay. The initial portension was a fire, That left a pile of ashes and mire Of
He had a point to make People viewed he was good He knew inside stories Was privy to information Actually tried blackmailing Under the garb of advising People fell prey to his ways To people who suspected him He was