The tears from the heavens,. Falling from the sky like a million little presents,. Making music so beautiful as they hit the ground,. Part of a symphony so grand,. It can plod on for hours. But it is a an unpredictable song,. On an instance it took the form of a soft minuet,. Light, carefree and tinged with joy. Another time, it was a funeral march,.

If you are unsure of where to start, you might try mimicking one of the authors we read over the past week and a half. Sports, oh sports! Always there never fleeting. But always fun at every meeting. But some never gave you a chance. Only fun days and nights, no need for rants.

For me, reading poetry is alright, but when it comes to writing. Wrongly accused, but now set free. Set on his own righteous path it seems. But the king is now dead! The Empire is doomed with an empty throne,. Oblivion Gates would make anyone groan,.

With no one by my side. Alone, all on my own,. Alone, all alone,. To wherever I may choose to go. Alone, all on my own,. In whatever I may choose to do. Alone, all alone,. With no one to talk to. Alone, all on my own,. This is what I have to go through. Alone, all alone,.