This is a bit of a forum game, but at the same time it has the capacity to result in a bit of poetry, so it goes here. I'm going to supply a line of poetry, and the following poster is to create a poem using the line I gave as their first. Along with their poem, they supply a line for the next person to write poetry on. No restrictions on the type of line or poetry; just keep the line open ended.
My sorrowful soul sings, Of that life I once had. The future, what it brings, Was torn out of my hands. Of my body, pain and sorrow are the kings, and my lonely soul their jester. A twisted old man's soul begins to sing, Of what my life could have been.
The Pool of Life surrounds me; It constantly washes my body, My heart, My soul; It is my life. Yet, one can't live without strife. Like one cannot stop the waves Nor can one stop the echoing of caves. So, I take it upon myself to turn into ice, For if I were to freeze one more, that would suffice, And I look up from the shore into the Atlantic blue, For I'm coming home, ready to greet you.
A flower will always wither. Its life will be one of wonder. Still, death will cut it asunder. Nature is cruel. Earth its footstool. Life and Death, they are a cycle. Life and Death, they are mystical. A flower can't always dither. Death.
Don't let the silver thread fall It will land, slowly, slowly, and then as it does, one causes all the rest to topple slowly, slowly and with no sound they've up and vanished, dead as dead, gone as gone. ----- It's unpredictable, never seen before
It's unpredictable, never seen before, An enigma that compels one to learn more, And it fills small holes, yet new ones, it will bore. An infinite adventure, it waits to be explored, Where opportunities can be found, it opens new doors.
Its true nature is perceived as abstruse, But without clues, quite obtuse. Of twos? Nay! He settles more in threes, But not with trees, and surely not tees. Tea? No thank you, my dear, But oh dear, that poor deer.
When I twist my hands to twist yours, You slip through my fingers like sand through a sieve, Wriggling free your slick, silken sleeve And finding you've achieved A triumph once more.
