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BollyHarry


Member

Posted Thu Jun 6th, 2013 7:31pm Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Reading that over none of it makes much sense, but I tried.


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Beechy


Member

Posted Sun Jun 16th, 2013 12:04pm Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Sleep
I wish I could sleep, just one dream to keep,
Awaken one day, to sleep I do pray.

A sigh and a yawn, wake brightly one morn,
Fatigue in my head, please sleep in my bed.

Spinning and turning, my brain spins around,
Thinking and yearning, of sleep deep and sound.

Eyes tired and red, relax in my bed,
My body and mind, needs sleep of some kind.

Quiet and dark, not a sound not a peep,
My world all around, is now soundly asleep.

Dark out my window, dark in my head,
Asleep now I should be, but thinking instead.

Thinking of troubles, that hardly exist,
Thinking of pillows, my head that once kissed.

Grey skies around me, darkness around,
Gloom that surrounds me, sleep must be found.

Sleep is the cure, for the troubles I’ve found,
My troubles will go, with sleep deep and sound

I wish I could sleep, I pray for some rest,
Awaken one morning, and feeling my best.


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ms3g11


Member

Posted Wed Jun 26th, 2013 9:40am Post subject: WRITERS THREAD

Ahoy!

I'm new here and have been trying to find a place to post - the writers thread is definitely it! So glad Stephen's website has this great little community of fans.

I wrote this poem a while back, it's called Footprints:

The fog fermented outside as I came into class not sterile enough for the tales they told to regale our young minds through the dank dread of waiting for break.

Today a god and his son ashore on the sand, hand in hand, teacher said. A cacophony of giggles from the girls and all poignancy scuppered.

Footprints beside the son dissipated besides hope at times when the vagaries of life, satisfaction and loneliness tormented him and fraternity orbited, visible and constant yet isolated from reach. But all was well for the father had carried him. Amen. Maudlin rapture from the mouths before they went back to chewing gum not knowing that ephiphanies are dumb when they're handed to you.

When summer came it was punctuated by a spattering of days upon Quantock hills where I arrived a static observer of beauty and left with it stashed away in my pulse. In a launch across the mud I lost a trainer in the caress and pull of the ground, and I didn't care for there I saw it was saving me from behaving, donning blue lumps that I've never been convinced of. My sole beats down, a stencil from my hobbit feet left indelibly on the ground and myself, a dialogue found. And I still haven't decided nature if I am mine or yours, but you are the carrier.


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