"What is this I hear?
Is it the voices of the slain,
On that very plane?"
He said in a voice of despair.
"I walk towards the sound,
And find it comes from ground.
Oh how I would like to pound
The person who was crowned
For making such a sight as that!"
He said as he spat.
Author's Note: This is a very old poem that has been in an old notebook for many years, left untouched, but it holds a place in my heart as one of the first poems I made. I was around twelve, I think, when I wrote this.
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Compiled Poetry
PoetrySome poetry I do when I'm bored or have a spark of inspiration. Some are really old, some are from stories I wrote, and some are song lyrics (even though I don't know how to write music), so please be kind and don't expect perfection.
