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I decided I wanted to try out writing a nursery rhyme, but a creepy one.
So I'm not sure if I like it or not. You tell me.

~~~

Beware the man in the black cloak.
He who comes and goes like the smoke,
Steals you little ‘uns out past sundown,
And hides you outside of the town.

If you go out past the suns reign,
Then you shall feel the Dark One’s pain.
If you’re seen past nine of the clock,
His shroud with end your little walk.

Beware the man in the black cloak.
He who comes and goes like the smoke,
Steals you little ‘uns out past sundown,
And hides you outside of the town.

So next time you want to leave late,
Remember you’ll be found under slate.
And if you’re caught out past curfew,
You’ll be buried under the morning dew.

Beware the man in the black cloak.
He who comes and goes like the smoke,
Steals you little ‘uns out past sundown,
And hides you outside of the town.
And puts you to rest outside the town.

Ok I decided to write a journal entry for a man on death row. Everything is made how it's supposed to be.

~~~

Journal, never kill someone. its a tough life here in prison, and i wouldnt want you to have to go through this as well. i get little food and water, and the only company i have is you, Journal. but it was worth it. to see that little liar writhing in pain while i punctured his chest multiple times with – sorry Journal, you didnt need to hear that.
i applied for a pardon today. i would have applied earlier, if i knew it was that easy! ha! the sooner I get out of here, the sooner his little friend will – pardon me. ok im better. but yes, the application. last minute. i truly hope i get out of here alive. i was not born to die like this. i dont deserve this! HE did. HE brought it on himself! all I did was help by ridding the world of HIM.
i... i apologize. All this time alone, maybe it is going to my head. youre the only person I have Journal. nobody else wants to talk to me in here. they all say im going crazy! im not going crazy, am I Journal!? no! thats right! THEY are the ones that are going crazy!
youre right Journal. maybe I should calm down a bit. seeing as this might be the last time I talk to you. in a few days, if my pardon doesnt come in, its to the chair with me. the chair... THE CHAIR. that was my flaw Journal! i left blood splatter on the chair! thats how they caught me! well I wont mess up next time, they wont catch me! ill get away! ill get his little friend, then you and me can sail off into the mystique and – mystique... mist... Misty!
i wonder if she will still love me, when she hears of what I have done!? no! she mustn’t know! she cant! how i long to gaze into her deep blue eyes, stroke her silky blonde hair and feel her soft, soft hands holding mine once again... oh Misty.
Journal... never kill someone...
David Fabula
Day 359


-Taken from the journal of David Fabula after he was executed.

Ok, this one I don't like very much, it took me like 15 minutes, so it shows, in how crappy it is smile

~~~

As I lie upon this cold bed,
Spirit pouring out by the minute,
I think back to ask what I did.
But alas I have done nothing.
She came along like a disease, a famine.
Her cold fingers plucking at my soul,
And sucking me dry of love.
She’d leave me be for a while,
But as sure as the sun rises, she’d pull my leash
Sending me back into my hellish torment.
I try to run, to flee, my dying heart on the line,
I fall down again and again, losing my will to live.
But then, from the gods themselves, a gift
With one elegant move you are by my side.
You stroke my head and reassure me
Your warm hands give me faith.
As you mend my wounded heart with your pure love
I start feel human once again.
I gave love another chance.
So, as I lie upon this cold bed.

Ok I had to write a free verse poem [No rhyming sceme, length of lines or set number of stanzas] for English Class. This is the result.

~~~

I crouch on the cold hard ground,
Long green grass grown up all around me,
As I clutch my bow,
My mottled cloak blends me in.

I hear the scuffle of horse’s shoes,
On this forested trail.
The first horse emerges from the corner,
A proud, healthy horse, with a rich looking rider.

I lie and wait, watching the convoy go by.
One by one the wealthy men ride on.
Then a sleek, strong horse struts down the trail:
The final merchant of the group; My target.

His luscious robes flowing down his body,
Rare goods and wares behind him on the horse.
A gold encrusted scabbard at his side,
With diamonds embedded in the hilt of his sword.

Wait for it... the perfect opportunity will arise.
When the others start to go around the bend, they won’t see him.
The sun glints off the horses silver spurs.
They go around the corner, now is the time.

He trots on, unsuspecting.
My hand goes to the quiver, two fingers pinch the fletching.
I see him smiling, unaware of what’s coming to him.
My fingers wrap around the bowstring, and with a short breath, I draw the arrow.

The horse stops, his ear starts to twitch,
A sign of danger to the rider.
Ignore it... The others can’t know of the danger...
He starts looking around, but looks right through me.

He continues on, his eyes shifting suspiciously.
I center his head in my arrow tip.
He starts to whistle a weary tune.
I whisper a small prayer for him...

I allow the arrow to slip from my fingers
I hear it whistle through the air before it splits clean through his skull.
He hits the ground silently into a patch of dried grass.
I let a small snicker escape my lips, with a smile.

Ok so this was the first thing I wrote, and when someone informed me that it was actually pretty good. Didn't belive 'em.
But now I'm starting to be more confident.

~~~

Another one coming today.
Just another week.
Come on guys, be quiet. It’ll be worth it.
She walks in. Just another one, they’re all the same. Short, pudgy, long straight hair and a cheery and oblivious face.
“Bonjour!”
“Bonjour!” we all eagerly reply in unison.
“This class looks promising!” proclaims the new teacher heartily.
I muffle a laugh.
“Well I am Mrs. Primrose, so let’s start off by going around and introducing ourselves!”
Ugh. We go through this EVERY time.
“Bonjour, Je m’appele David.” I say professionally
“Well nice to meet you David!”
We finish introducing ourselves and Mrs “Primrose” starts handing out papers.
“This will be today work, it is very easy and I will even walk you through it!”
This will be all the sweeter.
As the end of the day comes, the teacher compliments on how well behaved we are, and even hands out penny candies! Wow. I almost feel bad. Almost.
We walk into the class the next day, sitting in different seats.
“Wait, didn’t you sit – and didn’t you--?” questions the teacher.
“No...” replies Cody, the kid behind me.
So she gets straight to the lesson.
“And the hyphen over the E makes a...”
I watch the perfectly constructed paper airplane delicately float on the air, to promptly crash into the teacher.
“What is- Who threw this?”
I hear Nicole giggle.
“Well don’t let it happen again” says Mrs. Primrose while she turns back to the chalkboard.
Just another little fold...
I throw the plane across the room.
By the end of the day, the room is filled with paper airplanes.

Judgement Day. Final Verdict. The Day of Reckoning. Wednesday.
We come into the class loud and raucously laughing. We toss our winter clothes near the hooks, and our bags on the ground. We slouch into our chairs.
“So today’s lesson will be-“
“TAKE THIS!” yells James as he punches Chris.
“DON’T PUNCH ME OR I’LL CUT YOUR THROAT!” retaliates Chris.
“Now now children”
I stand up and throw my textbook across the room.
One by one everyone stands up and a mosh pit starts.
“Children... CHILDREN!”
“You be quiet missy, or ill cut your throat too!”
The class’s noise level rises as she starts to tear up.
Insults fly.
“You’re a horrible teacher!”
“Nobody likes you, or French!”
“You stink!”
They continue as she swiftly leaves the classroom, while bawling her eyes out.
Mission Complete.

Another one coming today.
Just another week.
Come on guys, be quiet. It’s always worth it.
She walks in. Just another one , they’re all the same. Short, pudgy, long straight hair and a cheery with an oblivious face.
“Bonjour!”