Now this is what I like. So who took her life from her? I need to avenge!!!

feel free ma'am
plot her death
ill be most grateful to see how twised u can go
note however
no "secular" weapons
she had just one point of exit of life,
good luck

Poetry or prose? I like it sha.

i rarely have a specific word for my writings,
thoughts however, seems to be the most adept description
either way, thanks

stillwater:

So who took her life from her?

nanaboi:

before she ceased to be my sister;

her brother did

a welcome sigh of relief from stillwater am guessing

I love it, you are a fine, talented poet

Sorry I didn't seek permission b4 rushing in. It's us that I felt your work like I feel my skin and,

The truth of life,yeah, nice smooth and on point.
I just think you should work on your lengthy lines,
a break into two rhyming lines per stanza will do

pls dont be nanaboi,
i feel honored

oreshade thanks for the compliments
but the moment i start restricting myself to rhymes,
illd stop writing
the joy i derive from writing is because i am free to do as my pen wishes

Thanx bluespice

_{. . . not a "rhymer"/poet}


Angelic she,
Devilish me,
Who would have thought
the same womb brought us forth.
"We could have been good together,
this incestous love binding us forever.
But you left me no choice,
my benevolent Joyce,
than to leave of you
a pallor of bluish hue."

emm still water are u sad cos am not a "rhymer poet"?
i just dont know how to
its very stifling dont u think?

I'm sad because I'm not a rhymer/poet. It's difficult

bluespice:


The Sun glinting at angles through the leaves,

birds chirping ever so softly in the trees,

the brook flowing gently and seemingly noiselessly over the stones worn smooth with age,

the air thick and heady with the smell of flowers in full bloom in the distance,

oblivious to the wonder and beauty around her,

there she lay, on the forest floor soft and springy as a persian carpet with leaves long fallen

golden sun kissed hair that lay sprawled about her head,

eyes closed as though in sleep,

and lips slightly parted as awaiting a lover's kiss,

limbs at angles that that forboded her story,

but for the dark patch on the ground by her neck,

that told stories of the gentle seeping of life away from her into the carpet that was to become her funeral pyre,

she could have been asleep.

A very lovely creative poem.
I am the Prince Charming she is waiting for!
A kiss of life will wake her up and she will sleep and wait no more

ahhhh i understand u stillwater
errr rotimy,
she is dead

nice!! i like

thanks

William Shakespear ain't got a thing on this.

I'm awed!

lol
comparing this with a shakespearean work is pushing the limit a whole lot

but thanks all the same

@bluespice,

Nice

I love this poem, bluespice. you are very good.
and very imaginative.

I wish I could plot her death like u challenged.

hmmn, but u said 'No secular weapon'

I like this kind of challenges. How do u see this continuation @ bluespice?
No 'secular weapon' you said


The young freshly broken tree branch
perhaps unable to
Sustain her tender weight
As she sat,
Admiring nature,
Waiting, longingly for him
Beside the silent brooks
Belies any hope of sleeping death

Her head resting peacefully
On smooth white washed stone,
Dark rotting blood, trail a path
Down her head, down the rock,
To the patch
Sounded louder than any thud
Of her fatal fall!

The knowing black ugly vultures circling high above the greenery
With each cycle climbed lower and lower
Closer, and closer,
To a beautiful meal!
She could have been asleep

good
but she died by bleeding out of her neck. . .
fall would shatter her skull hence leaving a gory sight not the perfect beauty in death we want. . .
try again pls im loving ur thought flow

lol. Gotcha!
That will require a very little tweak. How about this

FATAL FALL

The freshly broken branch
Of a young tree
Perhaps unable to
Sustain her tender weight
As she sat,
Admiring nature,
Waiting, longingly for him
Beside the silent beautiful brooks
Belies any hope of sleeping death

Her head rests peacefully
On a young tender flower,
Dark rotting blood, trailing a path
Down her neck
Where a spike, had ruptured
An artery
To the patch
Sounded louder than any thud
Of her graceful, short,
Yet fatal fall!

The knowing black ugly vultures cycle
High above the lush greenery
With each cycle climbed lower and lower
Closer, and closer,
To a beautiful meal!
She could have been asleep

Err. . How's this?
There he stood,
Far,yet as near as he possibly could.
He hid betwixt the vines and the trees,
Her blood on his breeches.

There she had betrayed him,
There he had seen fit to deem,
That she be punished,
And he fate had furnished,
A golden opportunity,
To silence her for eternity.

How his heart beat with anger,
How her betrayal had cut him like a dagger,
There she had kissed another's lips,
There she had touched another's cheeks,
Uttered words of love,
Sullied herself with another's touch.
He had protected her,
And yet she'd whored for another,
How he had loved her.

So for the first time he'd shown himself.
She looked at him in fear,
But by then he was too far gone to care.
She was beautiful . . .
So beautiful.
Her pale cherry lips parted slightly,
She gasped softly.
Straining against her bodice,her chest rose and fell.
His heart swelled.
So f

This' the most beautiful thing I've read in years. Leave shakespear , e no get level on this flow.

wowzah!
now that i absolutely like

Nice piece, Atreus. But @Atreus, and bluespice, I see no murder 'weapon'.
Secular or not? Whence from the blood?

I was working on it. Back to the poem
'He pulled her close,
Let down her hair.
It tumbled down swiftly,
Cascading curls of auburn beauty.
She was pure,clean,
Or at least she used to be.
She was his,
He loved her,and yet he hated her still.
She was tainted,
Breathing in her essence,he hesitated.
But not for long,
And as fluidly as a song,
He'd thrust the crude flint knife,
And in that moment,he took her life.
He lay her on his thighs,
his ire satisfied,
And lay her on a bed of flowers,
And kissed her lips much like a lover.
She he'd saved,
And he left her on her leafy grave.
He
She was his.

Forget about the last two lines. I ended it at 'leafy grave'.