Well, I wrote a total of 2 poems today (ooh, feeling creative), and decided to share them with everyone on NP.
Winter Death
Christmas time, winter, the snow is falling,
Covering all in a deathly white blanket,
Trees shed their leaves, plants wither and die,
The ground turns hard, no seed can grow,
This deathly wonderland,
So beautiful, but dead.
A lone tree stands, on top of the hill,
Defiant to the last, refusing winter,
Fighting the icy hand of death,
Keeping his leaves, 'till the very last,
Alas! He cannot defeat the winter,
His last few leaves, tumble to the ground.
Ground becomes snow, water becomes ice,
Everything is white, pure, clean,
But dead. White death, how ironic,
White should be clean and holy,
Not deadly and stifling life,
Nature retreats, hibernating 'till spring.
Comment/Rate this poem
A Gothic Christmas
It's christmas,
Cold and snowing,
White and pure,
Full of death.
Go inside,
To the party,
All is black,
Purple and red.
Skulls are favourite,
Replacements of baubels,
On the tall dark tree,
With red and purple lights.
Atop the tree,
A skeletal angel,
Wings held high,
Head bowed.
Past the crowd,
Is a table,
Refreshments avaliable,
Take, eat.
Punch too,
Red as blood,
Made from fruit,
So they say.
It's christmas,
Cold and snowing,
Purple, black and red,
A gothic christmas.
Comment/Rate this poem
What do you all think?
Winter Death
Christmas time, winter, the snow is falling,
Covering all in a deathly white blanket,
Trees shed their leaves, plants wither and die,
The ground turns hard, no seed can grow,
This deathly wonderland,
So beautiful, but dead.
A lone tree stands, on top of the hill,
Defiant to the last, refusing winter,
Fighting the icy hand of death,
Keeping his leaves, 'till the very last,
Alas! He cannot defeat the winter,
His last few leaves, tumble to the ground.
Ground becomes snow, water becomes ice,
Everything is white, pure, clean,
But dead. White death, how ironic,
White should be clean and holy,
Not deadly and stifling life,
Nature retreats, hibernating 'till spring.
Comment/Rate this poem
A Gothic Christmas
It's christmas,
Cold and snowing,
White and pure,
Full of death.
Go inside,
To the party,
All is black,
Purple and red.
Skulls are favourite,
Replacements of baubels,
On the tall dark tree,
With red and purple lights.
Atop the tree,
A skeletal angel,
Wings held high,
Head bowed.
Past the crowd,
Is a table,
Refreshments avaliable,
Take, eat.
Punch too,
Red as blood,
Made from fruit,
So they say.
It's christmas,
Cold and snowing,
Purple, black and red,
A gothic christmas.
Comment/Rate this poem
What do you all think?
