War abroad
war at home.
Woe begone
we each alone
are ravished
and bereft.
I'm sorry to any of my readers that the poems I write are so bleak at times. I don't mean for that to be the main theme of my writing, but when I read the works of other poets (in class and actual published poets) I am inspired to write the same way they do. Hopefully this will improve as people write more cheerfully!
1 comments:
Here is my favorite poem:
On His Blindness
John Milton
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."
Now write me an excellent, cheerful poem...;)
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