Though you may travel far and wide,
No haven of life is found inside.
Viking hoard be cold as stone
Hot be heart and breath and bone…
I live in the thunder and ride the lightningMy sound is grand and big and bom bom bomI taste like ash and gleam like fireflies in rhythmI burst at the seams in my excessesGumming up the greasy wheels with my dustI climb up up up the ladder to knock you overAnd laugh at the messThe dew of the dawn brings me serenityAnd the rain of the twilight brings me deathI hiss at the world and fling my arms wide to the…
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What lands do separate –Nay, what words, indeed!For I know not that whichCan bridge the distance ‘tween. Stumbling tongues and soulsTwined round a similar reluctanceShadowed smiles and twinned sadnessReminiscence is a familiar friend Nostalgia trips along the lanes of soulShaking loose long-cherished joysAnd oft-mourned loss – I miss you!Must suffered silence be our cost? Hand clutch on guilty heartWhen fellowship is sunderedAnd I’m the one to blameFond farewells assuage nothing
We have all heard the little nuggets of wisdom and read all the articles on how to be a good writer. We’re taught grammar and punctuation in school. We are even taught that good writing looks a certain way, such as Steinbeck, J.K. Rowling, Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Steven King, Shakespeare, or all the other great story tellers of grandeur. We are also somehow led to believe that bad writing takes the waif-like, substance-less forms of works like self-published ebooks of the dinosaur porn variety, or even mediocre fanfiction.