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- Age 35
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- Seen Nov 29, 2012
That was an awesome poem.I remeber when i used to write some here and there, but they're probably really corny now lol.Like the word corny XD.Great poem again.
Mr Cat Dog said:Yesh... thank you for your lovely and kind reviews and stuff... ^_^ Anyways, I believe my writer's block has gone, so here's another poem ^_^ (HIDDEN MEANING ALERT!!! XD)
Like a virgin
Touched for the very first time
By the blinding light, I feel bliss
And rejuvenation flowing through
My heart and soul. I unfold my
Feathered arms and fly through
The sky like an eagle. Soaring
Through the gentle atmosphere.
I land in a green field, rejoycing
With little woodland critters. They
Frolick and play come rain or shine.
But the rain clouds never come, so
Happiness reigns among the land.
I carress a young badger's fur coat,
And we dance into the sunset.
I fly off again, but not into the bliss
Of paradise, but into the cold, harsh
Abyss. My wings clipped, by heart,
Perished, my soul, gone. I fall, screaming
With despair and hatred for the
Trickery it all was. I crash into a ditch,
Cold, and alone. No majestic wings,
No woodland animals. Nothing. Except
Myself, lying in a ditch.
I loved that bit, it's so catchy. =3The secrets, the lies,
The slander, the smear.
It really touched my soul, for... a certain reason... that line. I love how it starts - one word, which can mean a thousand different ones ^^; I have one problem with that, the only problem in the whole poem I found: Why does it goe deep | dark, hideaway? If they don't belong together please excuse me. XDAdultery.
A mortal sin.
Simply a pleasure,
Or more of a deep,
Dark, hideaway.
Mr Cat Dog said:Hitler's Love
As the torrents of rain soak
What sunlight there should be
From the despondent dawn,
Corpses lie in their scores,
Swollen, drenched, not just by
Water, but by the blood oozing
Out from their hearts.
Two vultures, nestled close,
Watch, unstirred, as they swoop
Down and pick the eyes and ears
And flesh until they both are fully
Gorged. Leaving their hollow remnants
In peace, they fly back to their dead
Twig upon dead tree, and embrace,
Almost with affection.
As he drives his jet black motor
Through the streets of Berlin,
His fumes of human roast, clinging
To his bristle moustache, the Fuhrer
Stops, at a small florist to pick up
Roses for his beloved Eva upon his
Return to his hidden hideaway.
Should we rejoice in this gratitude
That the epitome of evil can find the
Smallest morsel of warm, tender love
In the icy caverns of his heart,
Or should we despair, for in these caverns
Of ignorant radiance lies the stone cold truths of
Evil, Malice and Hatred.
I hope everyone likes it... well, I think ^_^