Disgusted with what you have done.

You pack your bags and prepare to run.

No fear of dark, life or any other unknown.

You prepare to wander through life alone.

To roam the planet and rule like a king.

To play, hunt, rest and do nothing.

Your dreams are crushed as the sirens grow near.

It all comes crashing back in one giant wave of fear.

 

 

I am going to keep my submissions to one a day for the next week or two. I could just post them all now, but I would rather not!

Well written, and it flows well. I would watch out for the stretching in some places, including the "one giant wave of fear" part.

 

I'll warn you before you start posting, Varrock Library gets about one post each month. That includes replies. It's not that nobody cares about your poetry, it's just that nobody cares about poetry.

 

Please excuse me while I go sob quietly in a corner.

I care. :)

 

Tavernians such as myself generally appreciate such things, we're just too busy expressing our creativity in an alternate fashion.

 

The poem's okay, I suppose, I tend to like shorter lines. And haikus. Probably for similar reasons.

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