Fairly straight-forward concept. You write a poem, but you make the words come out into a shape. Hopefully you all can figure this one out. Because my blog can be somewhat lame at times. You’ll have to ignore the “~” stuck in to make the poem go where it’s suppose to for the shape to work. Sorry!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~“This is my blood which was shed for many.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~His blood poured out for us

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A sacrifice made for us

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A truth He gave to us

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~His blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Spilled

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Out

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~On

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The splintering cross

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~An impossible sacrifice laid out for us.

Yeah. Well, what can I say? I don’t really like shape poems. I got assigned to do this.

Anyways, till later.

I can’t help but think
Of the end being near
But I know in my heart
I will always be here

I can’t change my fate
And I can’t control time
To be punished’s not just
I haven’t a crime

I wish for the end
I wish to be done
But this battle’s not over
It’s only begun

A vase of roses, a story said

A secret love, nobody knows

Binds her close, as does your prose

You promised to meet, at the station at night

She came to see you, even after a fight

But you never came, and she stood alone

With no one beside her, to face the unknown

The roses in her room, wither with time

Petals fall to the floor, in an unrhymed rhyme

She keeps the flowers, wherever they fall

A silent reminder, that you were her all

Gathering mist and gathering night
Darkening clouds and darkening light
What lies hidden in the distance
Darkened by unknown resistance

War is coming, that I know
Where to find it, isn’t though
Battle cries are near at hand
Soon we all will make a stand

We cannot see what is not written
We cannot slay what is not smitten
Make no plans, you cannot feel
What is lies and what is real

War is coming, that I know
I fear it comes far too slow
Choices are made with knowledge naught
People killed, without a thought

Gathering mist and gathering night
Darkening clouds and darkening light
What lies hidden in the distance
Darkened by unknown resistance

I do not know what happens next
My future holds what my past reflects

End of the year school is bad, and I was away in England.

I’m back now though, with a light school load and hopefully a lot of writing in my summer!

Here’s a poem I wrote on the plane ride back from London:

Forgotten marker of a life,

Worn with age, marked with strife,

What tale lies hidden underneath?

Who’s love was shown here by this wreath?

70 years of living, here,

Are preserved now like a mirror,

In which we gaze into your past

And find out when you breathed your last

Your whole life summed up in three letters,

“Here in lies,” the words like fetters

Bind your tale, trap your being

I can only guess now, what you’ve seen.

Forgotten marker of a life,

worn with age, marked with strife,

What tale lies hidden underneath?

What body trapped here, in this sheath?

The flickering light

Which betrays my trust

It darkens the room

It seems unjust

The candle that burns
With the wax that keeps dripping
Signals the end
Of my life, which is slipping

The guard keeps on waiting
Right outside my cell
Regarding the candle
Like the toll from a bell

At the last beam of light
He’ll march through the door
And lead me away
I’ll come back no more

So I sit here in silence
The end is so near
The light keeps on dimming
The time’s almost here

The darkness condemns me

No more will I tread

Past trees, streams or rivers

They’re cutting my thread

This darkened room fills me with doubt

And suddenly the light goes out

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I like the basic idea but man it’s put together really oddly . . . that’s what you get for writing poetry during classes.

I might try to redo this when I have some spare time.

A hasty poem scrabbled together during some standardized testing. It’s for a class I have. Let’s hope I get above a C for it.

Shining scales of golden hue

Sparkling like the morning dew

Claws that rake and rip and tear

They can uncover any lair

Beating wings with rhythm fly

Their flying drowns out any cry

Smoke which billows from your nose

Steamy clouds that slowly blows

Bright light flames leap from your tongue

Flickering fires have always sprung

Your beady eyes shine bright with greed

Your endless desire, they wish to feed

I have some new ideas and, of course, Hunter has some progress to do.