My poems without genre

Screaming outside
I can hear it
Wish I could do something
But I'm stuck
Everyone sleeps
Everyone but me
No one can hear
No one but me
The scream dies
And I know someone has died outside

I know it isn't that good but i'm what you can call a beginner at poems;D

no it was great!! youre doing a great job for being a beginner if u need any help or advice pm me
i was a beginner too but i got the hang of it

Here's another one ENJOY:

I scream and scream
But no one seems to hear
My dreams feels so real,
I can feel his hands against my throat
I can feel my lungs going out of air,
And just then i realize,
That it is all real

Good job Felii

Thank you Mary;D

nice!!!

Hi here's another topic for my poems but as you see it has no genre.

My dreams come true
My friends are happy
My life feels good
And i'm writing poems

It seems kinda crappy i know;D

it sounds like a happy life

*laughs* it good!

Another poem

Life goes on
Whatever you do
You get hurt
You get healed
You get love
You get sorrow
Whatever you get
Life goes on

ok, sorry, i didn't know

that is super good. You might want to read my signature. You arn't a beginer. you have a talent. Paint your painting with your colors, your own unique style, you hand made paints, your soft feeling hand, and your wise knowing mind. Always write what your heart tells you to write. Don't force it. I hope your painting turns out good for such a good artist as your self. Always be true to your self. No one can tell you what can't come out of your soul. And may your pen make a long smooth journey.

FlamingStar1323 wrote:

that is super good. You might want to read my signature. You arn't a beginer. you have a talent. Paint your painting with your colors, your own unique style, you hand made paints, your soft feeling hand, and your wise knowing mind. Always write what your heart tells you to write. Don't force it. I hope your painting turns out good for such a good artist as your self. Always be true to your self. No one can tell you what can't come out of your soul. And may your pen make a long smooth journey.

Thank you

Every choice is a step in your life
Some are jumps from high cliffs
While others are small steps on a plain road
There's a reason for everything
And life is a mystery
You'll never know what will happen tomorrow
So take care of today!

I'm starting to write more and more poems

Life is a mystery
A mystery without clues
you can look into a person's eyes and see her soul
But you can never really understand it
But what would life be without a mystery?
What would life be if everyone knew about tomorrow?
Would we make mistakes?
Would we learn?
Because it is through mistakes we learn
Would we cry and feel sad again?
Or laugh and be happy?
Or would we feel anger?
How would we be without feelings?
Without sorrow?
We would be shells
Shells without feelings
Shells made of flesh and blood
That would look like us
But the feelings would be blown away
Because what is a human without feelings?
What is a world without happiness or sadness or even hate or anger?
That's not a world
That's a hell

Four planes took the lives of many
Four planes crushed a lot of hearts
But in the same time they made a lot of heroes
And many came closer to what they feel in their hearts

Everyone was shocked by the cruelness
By the hate that made them do it
How could anyone crush so many dreams that big?
So many lives, both new and old?
How could someone want to cause such a tragedy?
So many families felt and still feels sorrow
So many families were split into pieces

Just a few similies:

Dewdrops on flowers glimmed as diamonds in sunshine.

The traffic was as slow as a snail with a lot of time.

The rose petals are as delicate as antique china.

kinda lame i know

Here's one i wrote for english class:


Taking a step
Outside the store
Hearing a scream,
Full of pain and fear
Trying not to panic
But my heart beats so fast,
My walking turns to running
And I hurry, before
Someone might die
But the further I get
I see nothing but blood
I see nothing,
And no one is screaming no more
My throat feels dry
And hurts like hell,
My face is wet
And smells like blood,
A thought hits me
''Maybe it was me,
Maybe it was I ,
Who screamed and no one else''
As the thought hits
It is too late
I'm already falling,
Dying, to the ground