tristiano

Find me in quickly fired off writing
pouring out urges that I'm tired of fighting.
Mystic is me,
cryptic as it may be,
but only my pen is free.


The lies of my life,
the love and the strife,
make this paper my wife,
and stored only in words,
the truth cannot be heard.


So now you understand,
why my hand,
softly draws lines,
in the sand,
between the times,
when I sit back and lie,
and when I stand,
just to be,
who I am.

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Damien.

I'd love to see you attempt a non-rhyming piece; rhyming can be succesful, but it can also be a crutch.

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To forget one's purpose is the commonest form of stupidity. - Friedrich Nietzsche

ms. vodka

if you are going to rhyme you also might want to pay more attention to meter and also let up on the rhyme just a little.

the imagery and idea has a lot of potential.

i agree with damien.

jen

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Skidding Through the Mud Incognito
confessions of a modern day poetess