Polar Bear
Stories (3)
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Reborn
"Humanity, so fickle isn't it? Poor thing..." My body feels so, heavy. As if I'm in water...floating but, I can breathe just fine. Can I...is this what breathing feels like? Ah, I remember now, how I got here. I can still see the hate filled eyes burning into me as the flames licked my body. "Witch! Witch!" they spat in unison. I feel it, the tight rope rubbing against my skin and the wood putting splinters in my back as I struggled. I can remember cursing them and their families for generations to come and watching while they smirked content with themselves as they killed another.
By Polar Bear4 years ago in Fiction
Basic
Poetry. Fickle lines of simple rhymes some a bit too complex to let rest on their own. I was never good at traditional poetry. Putting thoughts and feelings onto a page in a certain order fills me with...rage? Rage is the proper word to say right? and yet I am filled with defeat because rage can’t be beat in a contest of rhythm. My writing pattern does not fall in line but instead, like soft taps of rain on a window it is...sporadic. Never knowing when exactly the rhyme will be in time with the words. There! you see it? Oh, golden poetry of words that rhyme seamlessly without doubt or question, when will you let me write you?
By Polar Bear4 years ago in Poets
