A pillar,

Of light,

Is killing,

The night,

 

They tied my hands,

With chains of silver,

So I can't stand,

In the face of this killer,

 

My body's burning,

The pain's churning,

My life is dying,

I might be crying,

 

Muse! Wherefore art thou?

Why didds't thine given them my ill?

To lead them to my kill,

And I smile ever still.

So,now you're a poet too?I'm loving it! How can you e so much things?

Poetry is in my family history. On my father's side of my family was a famous Poet from England, he also wrote books (And one of those books I had read from my school's library ) Thomas Hardy, he seems just like me, writing poems AND stories.

Sadly in my country people don't care aout culture,so I don't know him,ut I'll search for something about his poetrys right now

Well you don't have to. But whatever.