Fornara

     When you are young, they will treat you with the softness of spring. They will guide you through the winter winds and over snowy hills, admiring the brilliance of your midday innocence; pulling daisies from the earth just to place them in your hair. And they will whisper to each other of how beautiful you are.     When you grow older, they will treat you with the indifferences of autumn. They will urge you from the complacency of your own fleeting fulfillments, and they will watch your brilliance fade with the swiftness of the sky. You will shed your fragile childhood with the colors of the trees, and you will learn to face

Practice Poem - Artistic Frustration: Wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG! Everything is wrong. 'As then sun dew drips from her eyes'- Do I really think that'll be good enough? Hours spent on each piece - Punctuated only by sound of ripping paper - To lie crumpled upon my wooden floor, Unable to be forgotten. As the hours pass and the day wears on, More and more worlds are crushed by my hands. Realities sprawled upon a single piece of paper, To die as quickly as they are formed. A man's whose romance is torn in two, A vampire about to meet his prey. A werewolf standing against an army And a boy facing the world alone. These are the li