Well, you guys have talent. Keep on writing, you're really good! I'll post some of my stuff here, though it's a bit old. I wrote this when I was 16 or something like that and I probably wouldn't write it like this if I were to write it now... but I haven't written any poetry since then (except crappy one for German class or mock poems about my teachers ), so this will have to do.
Ophelia
Accident, they call it
For suicide is not a nice term to employ,
Talking about a girl of sixteen years –
You fell into the stream and couldn’t swim
And we can never say that he or anyone else
Murdered you
Crazy, they whisper,
In your mind’s night you didn’t know what you did
Or what to do, so you plunged into the water
Perhaps they could have saved you if they’d tried
They didn’t, but nevertheless it was all
Your fault
Flowers, they say
For a King and a Queen and a Brother
A perfect virgin, a nice young lady
And so pretty when the flowers floated ‘round her in the river
What a pity that she had to die
So young
But they won’t say
That the secret autopsy that never was published
Proved clearly that you didn’t drown in that river
But died of your heart that was stabbed by a floret
That had stuck in a curtain of lies and false
Pretentions
But anyway, they decide
It was your decision and nobody’s fault
Or really just an accident, who will ever know?
So they’ll bury you and shed tears for the poor drowned child
And Rosenkrantz and Gueldenstern will believe or at least
Make believe
---------------------------
Drink oblivion with the morning dew’s ghosts
The blood cocktail drips from the rising sun
Before you wake up in a pool of light
Cruelly sober after dark wine’s night
Let flow the words with the tide of darkness
For tenderness hurts when the curtain is drawn
The whisper that seemed a night’s child’s prayer
Is a naked war cry in the jungle of light
Forget the road that you roamed with the shadows
For the light will show it leads only to dust
The ocean you were eternally sailing
Is not even a tear that was honestly shed
I won’t ask, I won’t cry, and I’ve already washed out
The stains that were left from your kiss on my hands
I will bathe my lips in the first glance of daylight
Drink oblivion, my darling, or else you will cry
As I said... I wrote this stuff when I was 16... and at age 16 I was pretty stupid!
This message has been edited by LiNeY on November 07, 2001 at 01:28 PM