Post by Klington on Aug 12, 2007 23:45:58 GMT -5
This will be a thread for some artists to post what they do up here and share it with the region. Don't post your stuff unless your willing to accept some friendly constructive criticism, and in fact criticism is welcome here, as long as its not putting anyone down and is designed to be helpful. So post something up, wether it be a photograph or a painting or poetry. whatever.
I'll start out with two sonnets I wrote.
This true love has now turn'ed sour to me,
What once made me happy, now brings me pain,
The hurt is 'nough to make a man insane,
Whatever she wants, I shan't disagree,
Even if it displeases me, for thee
I give the world, and naught to reobtain.
Thus my happiness, nothing to sustain;
She is a door, and I'm without a key.
But love is a most curious disease,
Most powerful force in all creation,
With it, only she needs to be glad,
And, thus I shall be too. Put on my knees,
My ails disappear, my pain, frustration
Withdraw. To her, all I have and e'er had.
I will never know how love is an art,
For my lonely soul, love it goes without,
The great flow of passion, in me is drought,
For with every time I open my heart,
Rejection flies into it like a dart,
The pain of it all makes me want to shout;
Makes me pray that God could remove all doubt,
Perhaps love and I, are to be apart.
Yet, when times are at their darkest, I stand,
Despite all my troubles, I shan't lose hope,
I will surmount all obstacles, for love;
For ladies are countless, much like the sand,
And love can be seen as a very steep slope,
I climb, to find the nest holding my dove.
I'll start out with two sonnets I wrote.
This true love has now turn'ed sour to me,
What once made me happy, now brings me pain,
The hurt is 'nough to make a man insane,
Whatever she wants, I shan't disagree,
Even if it displeases me, for thee
I give the world, and naught to reobtain.
Thus my happiness, nothing to sustain;
She is a door, and I'm without a key.
But love is a most curious disease,
Most powerful force in all creation,
With it, only she needs to be glad,
And, thus I shall be too. Put on my knees,
My ails disappear, my pain, frustration
Withdraw. To her, all I have and e'er had.
I will never know how love is an art,
For my lonely soul, love it goes without,
The great flow of passion, in me is drought,
For with every time I open my heart,
Rejection flies into it like a dart,
The pain of it all makes me want to shout;
Makes me pray that God could remove all doubt,
Perhaps love and I, are to be apart.
Yet, when times are at their darkest, I stand,
Despite all my troubles, I shan't lose hope,
I will surmount all obstacles, for love;
For ladies are countless, much like the sand,
And love can be seen as a very steep slope,
I climb, to find the nest holding my dove.
