The Beast With Green EyesThe Beast With Green Eyes by ConquerorQuixote
I wrote this during the course of two days, if you have the time (maybe about 10 minutes) I do believe it to be "worth-the-read." Please do not hesitate to add any constructive criticism or comments, enjoy!!
The Beast With Green Eyes
It was on a dark day that Hicks entered into that school, and it was an unfortunate turn of events that would be the beginning of many that he would suffer throughout his lifetime. From the beginning he was known as an oddball. His schoolmates, while sympathetic, never really dared to venture as to the odd nature of his demeanor. He was a night owl, and was rarely at home in the sunlight. While he maintained good grades, he was always seen as a reserved figure and never talked much to anyone. There’s really no telling if it was genetics or a unusual distaste
To the Darkly SoulTo the Darkly Soul by ConquerorQuixote
I see the tears beneath your brow.
I feel your pain; I see it now.
Sunken shoulders, blackened cowl,
A lonesome wolf lets out a howl.
Sultry moons that do not wane,
Broken hearts that have been slain,
Soldier on beneath the rain;
The whole of you cries out in pain.
But something dwells that stammers on.
A misused soul, somewhere upon.
Cloudy days, but you see dawn.
Denounce the will to suffer on!
Devote oneself to earnest yearning.
Free oneself from meager earning.
Teach oneself to higher learning.
A will to quell the needless burning.
It is your turn to hit the mark.
A way to give light to the dark.
A gift from God, you must now hark!
Free yourself; set fire to spark!
o0 The Mockingbird 0oo0 The Mockingbird 0o by ConquerorQuixote
Ill begotten hazard bore,
Before it all was hellbent lore,
To tour a house so drenched in gore,
A sanguine sweat in days of yore.
Beneath a sheet of icy snow;
As this there was, straight down below.
Against these evils toe to toe,
The wrath of She, I do now know.
Defendant there, I stood on trial; dreaming dreams in slow exile,
The verdict hung in justice perched about a safe-kept key and lock.
And as if somebody tricking, there came a tick-tock-ticking,
Recursive chant I heard the knock; the ticking of a broken clock.
It was in that March erratic, that I stayed there in that attic,
As I pined I painted piers and tiers about a stately wooden dock.
With my head so rife with tension, and my hand there in suspension,
I painted piers through pumice rock; out from the shore, a wooden dock.
"Confounded chant!" I'd soon recant, effusive rant, revolving scant,
up in the air, reverbing bare, a question fair: "What doth thou mock?"