Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → The writings of IcyIndia!

If you are intending to explain great, if not consider
it.

Ok, here's one I found.
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Empty

Wandering over plains
And forests, travelling across
acres of ocean,
I finally settle in a soft, green
prairie.

The grass leaves a clean scent,
The sky a vibrant flash,
The wind a whistling echo.

Slowly I waste away.
The beauty of the earth
grows as I dwindle.

I am light enough to fly now,
as my skin catches the wind
and carries me across
atmospheres.

Soon, my life leaves me,
and the vultures are disappointed.
I am a carcass an hour before
my death.
But was I ever really alive?

Quite a nice story and feel to your poem. Well done
I found that this part:

Slowly I waste away.
The beauty of the earth
grows as I dwindle.

is it real or fake one was really nice! Like the rhyming but not really style...

I mean whoa! Was I ever really alive? deeep...

Third and final.
________________

When I wake up, the bright lights in the warehouse are almost too much. I want to go back to sleep for a few more hours. Then I remember the fight. I jump up with almost impossible speed and sprint to where Nic and Troy are.
"You ready?" Troy asks me.
"Yeah."
"Here," Nic says, handing me a knife.
I hold the cold metal of the blade for a second, then click the knife shut and shove it into the pocket of my jeans.
"Let's go."

Ok, I've been going kinda brain-dead lately, with writing. I think the story I wrote took a lot out of me.
A critique would be nice. Might inspire me.
I'll try writing something tomorrow.

Could you try combining all three into one? critiquing would be far easier.

There is barely a sound as I sprint through the back roads behind buildings. Gravel crunches under my shoes when they hit the ground. It's night, but there is still enough light for me to see my way easily through the dark. I'd be able to find my way if there was no light, anyway. I know my way through these streets well enough.
I run with the intention of going home, but I'm not very focused on where I'm going. My feet take me in the direction of a different building: the warehouse. It's probably better that I'm here, anyway; going to my house would put my family in danger.
I slow down when I reach my destination. Stepping across the smooth surface of concrete that has been laid down in front of the building, I quietly enter the warehouse. The place is well lit, which is surprising. I'd expected it to be dark, since it's nighttime now. Then I realize that of course it's lit; there's someone here.
The main storeroom has trash everywhere. Kicking aside a can, I search for the lookouts. I know there are some here. I find them quickly. Nic and Troy. They talked to me when I got jumped in, and I don't like them very much.
"Hey, Ashley," Troy says.
My hand automatically forms a fist. I don't like being called by my given name. Ever since I moved to the U.S., it's been used only as an insult. I prefer to go by Ash.
I don't say anything about it though. Instead, I greet them and ask if I could crash there. I've got to be ready for tomorrow.
"Sure," Nic says. "Brothers help each other out."

I grab a thin towel from the top of a box, using it to cushion the cement floor, after finding a secluded space between a few stacks of boxes. I lie there, thinking.
I see Evan's face when I told her I couldn't come back. The gang is my first priority; I can't just leave. I remember what I'd said when I was leaving. I'd called her Evanna, a name I hadn't called her for years. Only strangers called her by her full name, which is what I am now. I want to keep it this way. Maybe she'll forget me and move on. I hate to see her hurt.
Then my thoughts turn to the fight. A feeling of dread settles into my stomach. I know I'm not ready for this. My jumping in was only a week ago, and I'm not fully recovered yet. Now, I've got to fight a different gang.
Supposedly, this other group is trying to invade our territory, so I've got to make sure they don't push us out.
I try to ignore my feeling of nausea so I can fall asleep. Eventually I succeed, and drift into unconsciousness.

When I wake up, the bright lights in the warehouse are almost too much. I want to go back to sleep for a few more hours. Then I remember the fight. I jump up with almost impossible speed and sprint to where Nic and Troy are.
"You ready?" Troy asks me.
"Yeah."
"Here," Nic says, handing me a knife.
I hold the cold metal of the blade for a second, then click the knife shut and shove it into the pocket of my jeans.
"Let's go."

Thunder of Glass

The lady of silver
Spun tales of wrought iron,
But the fables
She spoke of
Gave way to the pyre.

These tales of ice,
These tales of desire,
They leave us behind,
With the need to inquire:

Where were you when
The snow fell softly,
Heightening its masses
Higher and higher?

Did you see the
Ice locking us in,
The hostility of its beauty,
Creating a skin?

Where the branches crackled overhead,
Threatening their fall,
With one arrogant wind,
We may lose it all.

So this one isn't mine, and it wasn't actually intended to be a poem, but when they messaged me like eight times in a row, I thought it looked like a poem.
____________

why not hi?
just plain hi?
what's wrong with hi?
hi?
Hi?
high?
what's wrong
with hi?

hi...

Los palabras de amor,
They're really paper thin.
Showing off their glamour,
Shining from within.

Los palabros de odio,
They carry such a weight.
Scarring those who see them,
Killing those who touch.

Thanks for the combination. I found I to be very interesting and I thoroughly enjoyed it
I also enjoyed Thunder of Glass. oh yes.

the combination.