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FilipeDumas

Poetry (post yours, if you wish)

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Here I am, oh, here I am!

Not mature at all!

So unto these few twenty six,

Do my emotions fall.

The pattern here is simple,

For life is so complex,

I struggle with these pimples,

And so my heart is vexed.

An age away I fell in love,

And that love passed me by,

It hurt, but for the longest time,

I haven't questioned why.

Until a youth of mine own age,

Felt the mighty swoop!

A demon with an arrow!

A kick with Cupid's boot!

He leapt up and told me tales,

I just sat and smiled.

And avoided the depression,

In which my vessels wiled.

It was my solemn duty,

To share my knowledge true.

"The more I feel it in me

I understand in you."

It is some small recompense,

For all this hurt and pain.

But why did the life of another man,

Cause this grief again?

Jealousy, I do suspect.

Fear? I think so, yes.

To make my heart jump to my mouth,

The thinking brain a mess.

At least the simple song I pen

Can clear my stomach full

I ask my heart; "When again,

Will you tense your strings and pull?"

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Hello, I'm new here and I just discovered this wonderful thread. I write poems since, let me guess, I was 13/14 (I'm 26 now) and this is my latest poem. Hope you like it and I'm open for constructive criticism ;)

 

My secret

Darkness sets in

deep in my virgin soul

never thought in a lifetime

that I would lose control

 

Feeling misunderstood

yet I don't know what to do

still thinking

my only hope is you

 

Again alone in the darkness

like in the nights before

Tears falling down and down

tonight they are falling even more

 

My secret ,not telling anyone,

I'm gonna keep

feeling sadness

deep in my heart, deep

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So... I auditioned for the spoken word/slam poetry performance team today, and it went really well. :D Read two poems and gave them copies of both, along with a shitty third one, because three were required... The thing is that they look kind of strange just written out, but when said aloud I'm actually really proud of them. But anyway, here are the better two that I performed:

 

 

 

Pick a card, any card.

It’s funny. I’m from Vegas

And talking about cards,

Cards you pick, slick, slipping off my fingers by chance.

Chance that can’t be taken back,

No matter how many times you ask.

You ask me to pick a card

But I find that choice too hard,

Because someone already told me to pick a side.

Because there are only two sides.

Because you can only be on one side,

Not two sides, one side, the right side. Or left side.

Or inside my head, my head full of cards and magicians and strippers,

My head full of showgirls and feathers,

Dry desert weather

Whipping the sand

And feeding the fire

And cracking my lips

So that I can’t kiss you, I can only touch you

With my right hand, not left hand.

Three of clubs, not jack of diamonds.

I choose my sides like cards out of my deck.

Does it say I’m a Democrat or Republican?

Green or Libertarian?
Jew or Pastafarian?

The left wing is dangerous.

The right wing is, too, Grandma.

But birds need both to fly,

Or else they’d just drop out of the sky.

Like when God eats blackbird pies.

You should never believe my eyes-

I am the cynical preacher,

The atheistically deist agnostic who rocks it

Like the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.

I am the peace process.

Get out- cut your losses,

Or give the surge time to work

While you go berserk

Wondering what exactly is in a Chicken McNugget.

Who kills more kittens, McDonalds or PETA?

Even if it is just euthanasia.

The youth in Asia eat rice.

Cheeseburgers for us here.

Straight or queer,

But you feel like you’re bi 
Bye Bye- N’Sync or Backstreet Boys

Was the dilemma of my childhood.

I was Scary Spice, but I wanted to be Ginger.

I’m not even black. I’m not even white.

I’m more of a peachy tan.

Tan like the sand of my home,

Which is not really my home,

Because, honestly-

No one really lives in Vegas, right?

Unless they live in a hotel, right?

Or they live in the suburbs, right?
Or they fly in from LA every day, right? Left.

Left if you’re going west on Las Vegas Boulevard

Past the airport where men stand on cars,

Searching through camera lenses for a number.

Searching for their aces.

Kings aren’t good enough.

So they wait, watching Boeings and going

Insane from the fumes,

Wondering,

Why won’t my ace show?
Why am I alone

With a camera obscura

Fantasizing jet engines

And searching the digits

For the chance that can’t be taken back?

And I wonder,

Why would anyone ever want to pick cards,

One by one,

Hearts or spades,

Numbers or faces,

When they could play 52 pick-up

And have it all?

 

 

 

Lightbulbs blinking on and off behind my eyes

Because you just smacked me over the head

With the 2-by-4 of your beauty,

Punctured by the rusty nail of your wit

And infected with the tetanus that is your charm.

My heart has lockjaw,

But the ventricles won’t close,

So the blood just flows

Uninterrupted like the half-time show

At the Superbowl

When Janet Jackson flashed her nipple.

My dad hit instant replay twenty-six times.

Because he got it on Tivo.

But your face doesn’t need a machine

To keep it in my memory.

It’s imprinted, there, on my brain,

Written out beside the grade-school cursive grooves and curlicues

That allow me to speak and see

Everything I never wanted to see.

I should be studying PNP.

But I’m covered in charcoal

And bending PVC,

Like the lockjaw heart that won’t bend for me when I need it,

You’re elusive. Snow leopard.

Always there in the crowd

But never here in my arms.

In front of me,

But not inside of me.

Am I a slut for wanting you?

The creepy virgin Mary,

Quite contrary,

How do your feelings grow?

Oh, every day,

Every time you slide like an elixir

Down the two-point perspective stairs and into the

Lightbulbs blinking behind my eyes.

Deer in the headlights,

Dear, be mine tonight.

At least for a little bit.

But not when you’re drunk, dear.

Staring at me like a deer in the headlights

Blinking like lightbulbs

On a cosmic disco floor in some frat.

Drenched in someone else’s alcoholic sweat.

They stagger, stumble, tumble,

Beg for my number,

But never for my name. I refuse.

Whore!

Because I can’t get drunk enough.

Whore!

At least not on Keystone Lightbulbs blinking in my

Mouth-watering,

Spine-tingling,

Ear-ringing,

Hair-raising,
Butt, grinding on someone I

Don’t know, don’t care,

Pretending I’m drunk enough.

Drunk enough on tungsten filaments

That cut my intestines

Into ribbons of villainous villi,

Tightened like wires

Just to complete the circuit,

When what I want is fluorescence, your presence.

In essence, what I want

Is a lightbulb that doesn’t blink.

 

 

And, FOR THE LULZ, the epically shit one I made at 2 AM this morning-

 

 

 

Squirrel, you are amazing:

Unfazed by stampedes

Of pedestrian needs

That crisscross your world with each passing hour.

Monday morning? No exception.

7 AM, you run, 


Propelled by the primal need to feed,

With your squirrel brethren, so easily pleased-

Content with the simplicity

To run run run run run run

Tree!

Run run run run run run run run

Tree!

Pause daintily.

Reflect on the world from your trunk,

With the polished jet beads

That we call your eyes.

The lingering flutter of light through leaves

As the oak heaves with countless lives,

Squirrel and otherwise.

Then arch your back-

Bitch, you ain’t getting my nuts.

Chitter-chatter growl as you skitter,

While hundreds of tails trace invisible webs and lace,

Dividing the world into sacred spaces

That only those lowered squirrel faces

Can see.
Your fur, grey as winter skies

Suggests an ancestry of flight,

When you were camouflaged among the stars,

Nesting in nebulas and eating quasars.

But having enraged some Rodent Deity

With excess happiness and lack of piety,

He cast you down to the trees,

As a warning for humanity.

You lost your wings,

You scavenge for scraps,

Living in wood that will rot and collapse.

But, squirrel-

You did not lose your wisdom.

You teach me as you run in the morning,

Through coarse shrubbery.

No wings on your back.

Not a care in the world.

All you have, squirrel, is

The movement- locomotion

The dance you employ.

Mouth filled with acorns,

Heart filled with joy.

 

 

Thank fucking god that we only had to read two. :LOL:

Edited by Strawberry_Juice

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I like the first one most, and I like it a lot. It's got a great pace, a great rush of images for the brain to digest. I think I can see how they're meant to be read- like with the energy of a political speaker? There's faster bits and slower bits and it slows down near the end...

 

I'm going to do one of those poetry readings...I'm just searching through what I have to decide what to read out. Problem is I write a lot of poems I'm proud of that rely on the visual structure of them as much as the words themselves...

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Before I need Cigarettes and Alcohol.

 

Ignorance. And blissfully, because of innocence, little ones

Frolicking and tumbling into things of sentimental value.

This one a fireman, this one an astronaut, so brave to be

So ignorant. Something that with a deep voice

Is foolish and scorned.

 

Irritation. And with it, a Want to Break Free,

A kind of vim without the necessary brown seeds,

Spinning and whirling in anger and life, and then,

Unconsciousness. But only a day and they dance on,

Afraid of a world of silence.

 

Tiredness. And with not just you, but with the world,

A sigh of weary knowing at the inevitable grey

That faces you and I, no matter your grand plans

I don’t know. But I live and learn here and now,

Before I need Cigarettes and Alcohol.

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Two originals by me:

 

DEADLOCKED

Cold green eyes glare at the northern sky

I stare at the stars and I wonder why

Things never turn out the way I want them to

So many things I wish to forget, many years of regret

They haunt me still, they haunt me everyday

I tried to change my mind, my heart, my ways

I feel so trapped, I just want to escape

I wish that I could run, I wish to fly away

Take me somewhere, anywhere far from here

Let me forget the past and all its fears

They weigh me down and clip my wings

Drown them in the sea of clouds and stars

I want to feel the joy that flight brings

 

 

PROPAGANDA POLITICS (Sell Your Lie)

Put on your fake smile

And tell em’ what they want to hear

Nice suit, nice tie, nice car

Sell your lie, Sell your lie, Sell your lie

Promise them peace

Promise them prosperity

They’ll believe anything they hear

Put your sweet poison in their ear

Tell em ‘ what they want to hear

What’s the truth, it ain’t so clear

Hidden agendas in sugar coated lies

When will this country wake up and realize

Things are getting worse, and its no surprise

We bought the propaganda and all the lies

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Hehe, my tutor just asked my class to write a poem. I wrote this afterwards in approximately 4 minutes, and I reckon it'll do. :LOL:

 

If I must…

 

And winding winding down and down the old spire grows and down it goes;

The unknowing whimper of a crow as it goes, and while the sky snows and snows;

And everyone knows the mother and child in tow know of the crows and the goes,

Of the snows, and it just goes to show that blow after blow the human race lives,

And the bird race lives, and the snow race lives, and the spire race lives;

The distance is uncanny, the difficulty unwieldy like a knight without shielding

Would fall without building the slightest offense, and yes, in my defence,

I am aware of the pretence that my poem lacks the slightest bit of sense

I was just giving my two cents, as is of which by every poem is meant

Every poet leant to some political bent, and on that, obsessed, they comment

And so, I laugh:

Although it’s blinding the winding widening witheringly winding never-minding opinion of which you I am reminding, allow me to clarify:

That I am in a student, in a big English world;

Amongst which I should be a man, but I feel like a little girl.

 

LM October 14th 2009

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Guest QueenOfNerds
Hehe, my tutor just asked my class to write a poem. I wrote this afterwards in approximately 4 minutes, and I reckon it'll do. :LOL:

 

If I must…

 

And winding winding down and down the old spire grows and down it goes;

The unknowing whimper of a crow as it goes, and while the sky snows and snows;

And everyone knows the mother and child in tow know of the crows and the goes,

Of the snows, and it just goes to show that blow after blow the human race lives,

And the bird race lives, and the snow race lives, and the spire race lives;

The distance is uncanny, the difficulty unwieldy like a knight without shielding

Would fall without building the slightest offense, and yes, in my defence,

I am aware of the pretence that my poem lacks the slightest bit of sense

I was just giving my two cents, as is of which by every poem is meant

Every poet leant to some political bent, and on that, obsessed, they comment

And so, I laugh:

Although it’s blinding the winding widening witheringly winding never-minding opinion of which you I am reminding, allow me to clarify:

That I am in a student, in a big English world;

Amongst which I should be a man, but I feel like a little girl.

 

LM October 14th 2009

 

I haven't been in here for so long missed loads of good ones!

Like this one Lee :happy:

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I haven't been in here for so long missed loads of good ones!

Like this one Lee :happy:

 

Thank you! :happy: With this reccomendation I will definetly present this to my class! :D

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I'm moving house soon. I wrote this poem about it...

Boxes

 

The videos are shot into darkness once again.

Inharmoniously they are ordered by alphabet.

Each of which are fine and straightly when,

There follows the block that held the TV set,

So once more a row of the children’s minds,

Against the rumbles they are wayward blind.

 

In this one the brown walls of my life are stickered across.

Rubber coiled strings, black and white, they used to hug.

The peripherals clack- they miss warm hands- now they

Are held by gravity and each other’s ergonomic grooves.

The further your arm goes; it is poked by inputs, outputs.

The subsidiary is a broken toaster that worked for so long,

And an old poster that feels it best, the van driving on and on.

 

The last one opened! – Up! – To find an angry face!

Shattered unpieced china money spattered over names.

Clay text so brutally powdered and mutilating uneasy hands.

The remaining books are intact and inert.

These hardy spines could not cushion – there, another piece!

But their leaves were rubbed by cardboard.

 

Another here lies;

A necessary box.

With a very unfamiliar

Set of locks.

Edited by New Born Lee

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It all seems nicer when it rains

The pathetic fallacy is false.

The trees may seem darker,

The sky heavier,

But the dense beauty of the atmosphere

Resonates with the sounds of wonder.

 

The pitter patter of love.

The cries of laughter.

The tappings of happiness.

Are all trapped within those

Droplets of water.

 

The same drops that fill

Our planet with pools of necessity.

Lakes and rivers and streams

All flowing or at a standstill.

Rippling with circular smiles.

 

The trees glisten with the skies diamonds.

The grass evokes a smell of autumnal fun.

It all seems nicer when it rains.

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Make a wish.

 

I lay here at a quarter to midnight,

Cold air and darkness surrounds me,

Swings creaking, passing lights blind,

corrupted by the night sky,

Body shaking, thoughts spinning,

Heart fluttering, smile breaking,

Fixed eyes upon the night sky,

Darkness weaved with faint light,

Smoking the essence of the night,

Smoking potential death too,

Not a care in my head,

Feeling so carefree and hopeful,

The stars scatter and paint the sky,

A passing star, make a wish,

A wish that is secret,

A wish that is hopeful,

A wish that makes me happy,

I wish it came true,

All i wished,

Never came true,

My wish was to lay,

Hand in hand,

Under the stars...

 

With you...

 

 

its a shitty free verse poem ^^;

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It all seems nicer when it rains

The pathetic fallacy is false.

The trees may seem darker,

The sky heavier,

But the dense beauty of the atmosphere

Resonates with the sounds of wonder.

 

The pitter patter of love.

The cries of laughter.

The tappings of happiness.

Are all trapped within those

Droplets of water.

 

The same drops that fill

Our planet with pools of necessity.

Lakes and rivers and streams

All flowing or at a standstill.

Rippling with circular smiles.

 

The trees glisten with the skies diamonds.

The grass evokes a smell of autumnal fun.

It all seems nicer when it rains.

 

alice :O youve been cheating on the other forum with this forum :LOL: i knew i recognised this poem! :p

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the world.

is a fucking horrible place.

atrocities vector

look down in disgrace

recycling is feeble

the planet is dead,

theres nothing we can do,

the pessimist said.

 

""spread our codes to the stars, you must rescue us all""

 

too greedy,

for too long,

too late when we saw,

that we'd always been wrong,

and humans are evil,

society is dead,

theres nothing here for you,

the realist said.

 

""its our last chance to forgive ourselves""

 

but maybe change,

isnt as hard,

as they both think,

we should just discard,

the lives of millions,

into suicide led,

because saints are too few,

the optimist said.

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There is some very good poetry in this thread. You guys are all very talented. Here is one of mine, that I have not posted in my other thread.

 

Occult of Personality

 

I take the path of excess

To the palace of wisdom

Redemption is worthless

Beauty and fulfillment of the senses are priceless

 

I explore every vice

And indulge in deadly sins

To awaken my senses

And escape the soul’s prison

 

Subconscious desires rise to the surface

Instinct replaces what I’ve been taught

Morality is relative

Ambition is blind

 

Chaos is strangely intriguing

Like the chance to sleep with an ex lover

One more time

 

I left you long ago

Because your kisses lost their flavor

 

Now I hear the serpent laughing

As I frantically stab my hideous portrait

My past sins punish me with age

 

Once I’m wretched and withered

The serpent smiles

And then slithers away

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It all seems nicer when it rains

The pathetic fallacy is false.

The trees may seem darker,

The sky heavier,

But the dense beauty of the atmosphere

Resonates with the sounds of wonder.

 

The pitter patter of love.

The cries of laughter.

The tappings of happiness.

Are all trapped within those

Droplets of water.

 

The same drops that fill

Our planet with pools of necessity.

Lakes and rivers and streams

All flowing or at a standstill.

Rippling with circular smiles.

 

The trees glisten with the skies diamonds.

The grass evokes a smell of autumnal fun.

It all seems nicer when it rains.

 

I like this. It's a very fond poem, quite defiant as well, there's real concentration on the beauty of nature and the world. Very well done.

 

Make a wish.

 

I lay here at a quarter to midnight,

Cold air and darkness surrounds me,

Swings creaking, passing lights blind,

corrupted by the night sky,

Body shaking, thoughts spinning,

Heart fluttering, smile breaking,

Fixed eyes upon the night sky,

Darkness weaved with faint light,

Smoking the essence of the night,

Smoking potential death too,

Not a care in my head,

Feeling so carefree and hopeful,

The stars scatter and paint the sky,

A passing star, make a wish,

A wish that is secret,

A wish that is hopeful,

A wish that makes me happy,

I wish it came true,

All i wished,

Never came true,

My wish was to lay,

Hand in hand,

Under the stars...

 

With you...

 

 

its a shitty free verse poem ^^;

 

It isn't actually, I love it. Even though the wish never came true and the imagery is rather foreboding, the poem remains quite hopeful and positive. It sounds like the 'wish' and it not coming true is a turning point for this person and that they are growing up- the gloomy world seems scary but they are an individual now.

 

It's so explicit in a great way- I love the line 'smoking potential death'. It really brings across the danger of adulthood and the world.

 

I hope this ties in with what made you write this. :happy:

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It isn't actually, I love it. Even though the wish never came true and the imagery is rather foreboding, the poem remains quite hopeful and positive. It sounds like the 'wish' and it not coming true is a turning point for this person and that they are growing up- the gloomy world seems scary but they are an individual now.

 

It's so explicit in a great way- I love the line 'smoking potential death'. It really brings across the danger of adulthood and the world.

 

I hope this ties in with what made you write this. :happy:

 

Aww thank you, ^_^ im glad you liked it :happy: your description is spot on O_O haha i actually wrote this in a kids park near midnight, was bloody freezing >.<

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Two

 

What is there, say, of everything separate?

Thou art more beautiful and more temperate.

What is there to an old set phrase?

A solemn reminder of happier days.

What is there to the shape of a cloud?

It looks as to speak, and ever so loud.

What is there to an old set of notes?

A song to the soul, my heart in the quotes.

 

What is a number, and what pray is text?

A pump of my blood with every last 'x'.

What is that, those men on the stage?

A man ripped to shreds, if he were a page.

What is the future, what is the past?

Tis longer without, and my life till the last.

These feelings and thoughts, I don't understand.

It's alright, my brother. You still have my hand.

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I had to write poetry for Literature earlier in the year:

 

My Toothbrush

 

My toothbrush scrubs thoroughly around in my skull

As though it were painting the Mona Lisa.

It seeks out stalactites and makes them sparkle

Whilst stalagmites are put through a car wash

Leaving behind a soapy residue.

 

My toothbrush erases history

Like a carpet it traps dirt from a person’s shoes

Like a broom stick swiping up obnoxious dust.

So frail are it’s bristles, it does its job without complaint

Yet we do not appreciate it

Instead spit it out in front of our own faces.

 

My toothbrush is happy in the darkness of my mouth

Flexing into yoga positions underneath my tongue

Dentists are its teacher and best friend.

 

Almost a daily ritual

It begins and ends my day.

It is something many cannot do without

Something we cannot borrow from another.

 

As you gargle out, the opera sings

Rinsing away, the toothbrush has done its job

The most humble of all household objects.

 

 

I have a few others that I might post a bit later.

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Fuck "They" make me sick

 

Strange thoughts cross,

My imagination takes hold,

Warping "their" ideas,

Twisting, weaving, modifying,

But to tell them,

Would cause an uproar,

In this world,

You cannot think for yourself anymore,

What "they" say goes,

Plain and simple,

Forbidden this,

Lawbreaking that,

Times need change,

We pay for "their" ideas,

So fuck the government,

Fuck the law enforcers,

Fuck this "better" future they created,

"They" cannot police,

or control my thoughts,

Its time my "madness" took hold,

To change our world,

Live your life to the full,

Or die trying,

Don't let "them" control you,

Your thoughts are your own,

Don't let "them" condemn you,

Live in your own world,

Create chaos, fuck "them" up good,

A simple idea,

A change for the greater good…?

 

i wrote this when i got my creativity back.

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The Revision Period

 

The cold outside and me inside.

No-one looking in.

I am not stood but sat sit slumped.

To the pages my hand stops, petrified.

The mess of sin a bin.

And with no warm bodiness or text

Can manage me a grin.

 

Click and stare and type, respond,

Knowledge is untouch.

Turns out I need to go out,

So the clouds unleashed an icy pond,

Not accomplish much.

Impending doom I fear it no for I

Done little as such.

 

Skin scanned for inconsists.

Round around I milled.

Chairs replaced and nothing missed.

I read books and rediscover

Things I wasn't billed.

Why you think write here I do?

Another time-slot filled.

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What is there to an old set of notes?

A song to the soul, my heart in the quotes.

 

 

This, well expressed! :happy: I like the whole poem, it's got a nice rythm to it.

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im a goose inside a flask

thanks to the glass i need no mask

and hang out my head to bask

hey you

im in here, an erlenmeyer flask

but would ya mind to break it if i ask?

im the goose inside a flask

stick out ma head i wanna bask

though pale and clear its like a cask

grown inside an erlenmeyer flask

so would you break it? i long to ask

 

just had the expression of the goose inside a bottle rotatin' through my head

sry for my real bad english, as im from germany i still got a lot to learn ;D

greets and have a nice day

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Dream...

 

I saw a woman die in a dream when I was dreaming of a glorious battle.

Where the battle was quick to be over, the woman tribe sneaky;

They dived towards the enemy to victory, and they weren't blocked.

Except by one lucky man, who reacted in time, and could flip his attacker over, and stab her in the stomach as she screamed.

Her ally dashed to her aid, and threw the man aside and slew him, but the woman's eyes were fluttering, and her blood and innards strewn.

And the ally could only look at what was below her eyelashes, a pearly and flickering white.

And though the battle was won, all the girls saw their comrade dying, and felt like the battle was lost.

 

The girl was scarcely known to them; she didn't speak much or pray.

Or look with much fear or excitement, or have too much strength in the fray.

The girls never tried to befriend her, as they all heard death's great moan,

But as her neck was cradled, and her harpstring was snapped, she felt like somebody they'd known.

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