I have had this stuck in my head for some time. It is my first real attempt at a poem. I wasn't gonna post it because it is not that good,[sarcasm] but I am a slave to my heart and inner voice.[sarcasm] So here it is but please don't kill me!

***

I saw her sitting there,

brushing her long hair.

Wishing that she knew,

that I wanted to tell her,

"I always loved you."

 

This prize that couldn't be mine

Because she was His Valentine.

 

And there he stood gloating.

Him in his self-centered splendor,

that of course made her surrender.

And I sat there loathing,

he still gloating.

 

The prize that couldn't be mine,

because She was His Valentine.

 

And then I thought,

with an evil grin,

that I could set

things right again.

 

With the prize that couldn't be mine,

cause She was His Valentine.

 

I took her from her home,

when she was all alone.

I knew what he would do,

and I knew she did too.

I hid her and I,

where only he could find.

 

The prize that couldn't be mine,

because She was His Valentine.

 

And we sat and we waited,

victory soon to be mine.

Yet the hands kept turning,

and my heart kept churning.

 

Oh, this prize that couldn't be mine,

because She was His Valentine.

 

She cried and She begged,

wanting to be saved.

But he still didn't show,

the clock moved so slow.

I touched the hilt of the weapon,

which would be the end,

and she wept for him, and for her life.

 

This prize that couldn't be mine,

because She was His Valentine.

 

Finally he came,

and then I finally gave.

I took out my knife,

with a blade curved like a scythe.

And I pointed it at her chest,

but he knew what was best.

 

For this prize that couldn't be mine,

because She was His Valentine.

 

I couldn't stab her,

no I couldn't bear.

So I threw the knife,

with a blade curved like a scythe.

Oh, his panicked cry of Fear!

 

Oh, the prize that couldn't be mine,

because She was His Valentine.

 

And he leaped in the way,

to stay the blade

that would surely slay

the one he held dear.

Oh her screech of Fear!

And the knife,

with a blade curved like a scythe,

went through his heart

that belonged to the prize that couldn't be mine,

because She was His Valentine.

 

Oh the prize that could never be mine,

because She was His last Valentine.

Dear God....this poem is inspiring to be an epic. Great job, I could never think of things this way, my thoughts are too sinister and short.

Thanks. I just took some inspiration from my life and went from there. I also got some inspiration from some Edgar Allen Poe work that we read in Reading class.

Interesting. Apparently a friend of mine is related to Edgar Allan Poe. As i'm also related to an old English poet named Thomas Hardy. So you can say I have some reputation to live up to.

Related to Edgar Allen Poe, interesting. Hmm, Thomas Hardy, I am not sure if i have read any of his work. I myself am not related to anyone worth mentioning.

Thomas Hardy was a poet in England around the early 1900's. He wrote many poems but also wrote a romance novel titled: "The Return of The Native". I had the liberty of reading the book at my highschool and it twas interesting indeed, it even showed a sketch of my ancestor. The book was filled with love and tragedy, twists and drama. But of course to the average teenager it would be as boring as William Shakespeare. T_T

mmm, Sounds like an interesting read at least. Though the only library I have access to doesn't really hold any poetry, and i myself am not that into it. But if i ever see it i will be sure to check it out.

It would prove boring to those who are not fond of the olde literature. But I do encourage checking it out.

I am rather found of some poetry, but I am not fluent in reading them. To go against the normal in my school is suicide, sadly. I have only every abandoned one book, but that was because it was poorly written. If I do ever get the chance to read the book, I can almost assure you I would read it to the end, even if it is not my style. I like to give every thing a chance.

Well thats good then. An interesting concept.

Mmm, I suppose. Reading is something good in my life, it takes me to whole new worlds, different from mine. Even if the story is set here on Earth, I feel like it is a whole new world. Writing helps me achieve my own worlds, though most stories I make never make it to paper or to a document on the computer. I once had a story in my head that I continued on for 2 years. That story is long gone, but even so, it entertained me even if I was actually doing nothing. Anything that is well written can ensnare my mind. Fiction, Fantasy, Sci-fi, even some Non-Fiction, all of them give me joy. Poetry, is a different concept to me, something new. Some of it speaks to my heart, others seem to have no meaning. The random short poems in my text book for example, they have no heart, thus they don't speak to mine. Something by Edgar Allen Poe, for example, has heart, maybe a plot, and deeper meaning. That is what I like.

Indeed, its the heart we are after in poetry. In literature everlasting as well. It slinks and stealths through our souls and our minds like a great snake, it sings to us like the Sirens of the Odessey, it engulfs us! Creates us! Frees us from these immortal chains of man and God! Poetry is the nectar of the sweetest fruits! The greatest angel in the guardians of Heaven's mind! It is the life, the destiny of all our well wants and beings! It! Is! Poetry....(sorry for rambelling on )

lol.

It is all right. I tend to ramble a lot.