Here's my entry, hope you like it!

The Courageous Serf

The king slept in his beautiful bed,
While I the serf, was dumped for dead.
The king ate feasts of fresh meat,
I dined on only ants, and moldy puffed wheat.
The king was carried wherever he wanted to go,
While I had miles to travel, or food I must forgo.
The king was draped in success and honour,
While I was forced to labour.

I decided, that's enough!
And decided it was time to get rough.
I ran all the way to my ugly home,
And picked up a rather large stone.
I started carving it into a sword,
With tool I could barely afford.

Month by month passed slowly,
I had not yet finished my lowly
    project.
Then one victorious day,
I finished my sword, and began to pray.

I plotted what I would do,
I would rampage the foul crew.
Rampage into the king's castle,
That might give him a huge hassle.

I walked for many miles and nights,
Precariously I walked, through the night.
Then one dangerous day, I arrived,
On the power of my stone sword, I thrived.

I attacked the first guard, he
was no match for my sword and me.
I pulled down the drawbridge,
and entered the castle, and saw many fridges!
I asked, what are those fridges for?
A knight replied, those are really doors.

I cackled, and ran through a door.
I found the king, staring at the floor.
I cried with laughter, and yelled at the king,
Why do you live in luxury, and I have to make string?

He shouted, Guards, take him away!
My stone sword, was no match for the knights at bay.
I fought a hard battle, defending my courage,
But I knew I had to run, I knew it would discourage.
They stabbed me in the chest, I must confess,
It was the hardest battle, I was in distress.

There I lie, on the cold stone floor,
I was dragged out, out to shore.
As I lay on the sand looking at the sky,
I died.

Thanks, hope you like it!

Aw man! I have a REALLY good poem that I wrote in third grade but It's about a color, so I'm waiting until the theme for colors comes out.

Hay does anyone know where you turn in the poems when you are done??

shayneii that was amazing, you are a great writer....

What is the price you pay?
To be the hero of the day?

You proudly walk down the street
Head held high for all to see.
You are the hero of the town
You are given glory and gifts.

But at what price.
You heart and mind forever scared
By the memories you now harbor.

Asleep you fall on a bed, worth for a king
But the comfort that it brings is long away.
As your mind brings you back to that fateful day.

The cold pricing your armor as you walk
Through the empty streets of a empty town.
A dark figure fly’s past, you dash to fallow
Your heart is racing at the excitement.

You draw your sword as he draws his.
The clang of steal echoes loudly in your ears.
The criminal now in your hands.

The voices around you, tell you to
Bring him to justice and in a moment
Of weakness you do…

The cry or pain now burnt into you head.
Your pride now turning to shame.
The color of death now forever stains your mind.

You wake with a fright…

A hero, a knight, and a savior they say
But nothing could be farther from the truth.

I hang my head in sorrow, tears falling
One by one you’re so called hero, crying.
But tears will not erase what I have done
the errors of a sinful son.

The price I paid for glory and fame.
Is to be for ever trapped in a
Prison of sorrow and pain.

By, Adrecka   

Hope you like it, its a sorta different perspective on a hero....

adrecka_33 wrote:

shayneii that was amazing, you are a great writer....

Thanks, your poem was great also!

Shayneii, How long did it take you to write it??

The Hero Who Wasn't A Hero

A cry for help reached the man's ears,
And listened for something else to hear,
After a crumble and a crash and another wail,
Is where we shall begin this specific tale.
With not a second to lose, the man put on his suit,
Of silver and jade, as well as matching boots.
He coifed his hair, and he was set,
After spraying on some eau de toilette.
He dashed out the house, and took a sharp right,
And rushed to the people that were in fright.
He gazed up and saw the burning building,
And decided it was time to do his thing.
The man ran to the scene and announced his presence,
Wishing for applause, but noticed its absence.
The people did not clap, or shout, "Hooray!"
Because the firemen had already saved the day.
The so-called superhero felt sad, and decided to pout,
Because his time to be famous had run out.
He sulked along the streets, feeling quite blue,
And saw a boy, very much older than two,
Walk into a facility labeled, "Soup Kitchen."
The man stopped and smelled an aroma of chicken,
And, on a whim, decided to proceed,
And thought he could do a good deed.
Once inside, he saw the boy again,
Handing out meals to people aging from eighty-five to ten.
It then dawned on the man that you don't need any suits,
Perfect hair, nice cologne, or colorful boots,
To be a hero to people who are need.
The man learned to do good for others, and not for greed.