This is a bit of a forum game, but at the same time it has the capacity to result in a bit of poetry, so it goes here. I'm going to supply a line of poetry, and the following poster is to create a poem using the line I gave as their first. Along with their poem, they supply a line for the next person to write poetry on. No restrictions on the type of line or poetry; just keep the line open ended.
A repetitive noise, A buzzing beep, A loudly clanging herd of sheep, A bashing, banging waterfall, A bouncing, crashing, falling ball, A slurping, groaning choir of hounds, A howling growling noise resounds.
Life is good, Happiness around, People smiling, No sorrow found, Until the day of death, That will eventually come, Taking away our breath and, The lives of some.
Venturing along the tracks Who knows when we will get back Chartering green lands oh so new, Journeying across the ocean blue, Discovering worlds unseen, Except perhaps in a shadowy dream
I like this topic so much but no one posts. Marvelous me
Marvelous me I'm better than you You should see There's nothing you can do I'll beat you everyday You will always lose And, I'll always win You'll experience the boos.
The paths we choose define who we are, A rat in a hole Or a glorious shooting star, Scrabbling for dirt Or reaching for the sky, The path I choose can make me fly.
Maybe it's something else that keeps us all on edge; not the constant fighting of countries' warring heads and the constant threat of mother nature striking that's causing us to fret.
But, then, what could it be? Is it some unseen thing that keeps us on the edge of sanity, some being that fills the mind with worry? Perhaps its meant to stay unknown A part of nature, it could be A place or thing never to be shown.
Grayness clouds the eyes, of a man fading from life, Such sorrow and broken hope, Such horror and strife. His arm falls limply to his side, His sword falls from his hand, This is what war does to us Death of the memories of man. A sole figure lying, on the cold hard ground, Its sad to think of the life he lived, When his hopes were still to be found.
I'd like to live a life unseen, but all my fun would disappear, I wouldn't feel the soft touch of the green. The love I had would fade in mid-air, I wouldn't know left from right, and I probably wouldn't care. My pain and misery would not show a better path, I would slip through the cracks, and fail at math.
