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Hopeful
May 27, 2011
It stands in the darkness of a dank, demonic wood.
It does not move, though it knows it should.
Vines grip up its aging sides.
It has gouges and scratches in which animals do hide.
Its sickly twisted arms reach out,
Yelling out in silence for help.
And through the dense atmosphere above,
Streams a little ray of joy and love.
There is hope for this mad, disturbed face,
To put an end to the deranged race.
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This article has 4 comments.
i.luv.u.hun said...
on Jul. 2 2011 at 2:56 pm
i love the great adjectives it really makes this poem great!
Quinntessa PLATINUM said...
on Jul. 1 2011 at 12:05 pm
Thanks duct-tape! That means a lot!
Duct_tape13 said...
on Jun. 30 2011 at 2:42 pm
The imagery in this poem is spectacular. It seets the mood of the poem quite well, and it allows the reader to easily picture the scene.
30 articles 4 photos 4 comments
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I am being frank about myself in this book. I tell of my first mistake on page 850.<br /> - Henry Kissinger