Learn more about other poetry terms
Eight: Extremities armed for the call of the wild; the hunter marches. Seven: Strings fanning into the damp corners of cardboard castles.
When I was 7 Mama pulled me aside I say “Yes Mama” She started, “My baby,” Which I no longer was “How would you feel if..” My world had ended “Your Dad and I separated”
Once upon a time, there was the fairest maiden whose beauty matched the frosty snow At the same time, the warmth of her heart matched her fiery red lips Throughout the kingdom, everyone knew her innocent beauty would glow
I love resolutions But not just any kind It’s not that I’m picky But there’s one in particular That induces beautiful heart palpitations And the grooviest finger spasms Don’t misunderstand I’m not a masochist Rather, I’d like to think o
Seventh of the eightSeveral wishes did cameWith just two calls andDid it all end
As I sit here and lust for this man I wanna cry but my tears have too much pride to fall down my face. I sometimes have to wonder if my greed got me into this situation.