The ensuing poem below is more or less based off of my inner-thoughts on myself, and the life I feel I am losing touch with, also written in the sort of "fantasy" type style of poetry. It conjointly comprises on other certain details that I would rather not get into at the moment, and you would have to PM me in order to discover. In any rate, I�d greatly appreciate some descriptive feedback. Merci. ^^

<font=verdana><size=2>Unknown</size>

<size=-1>Deep inside the ancient tombs of my mind,
there lies a hidden treasure.
Transcendent dust whisks throughout my imagination,
debarking upon this treasure, burning its aurulent platinum,
and dimming it's exquisite auroral.
Perhaps there is more within it, alas, I am blinded by its reflection.
The fingers that play my sumptuous acoustics let go and disintegrate�
Confusion swarms my spirit and body alike, forming a new being.
My mind travels into a universe adrift upon the majesty of stars,
I think no longer, for my mind is obscured.
The tombs of my ancient city come crashing down,
hope is on a journey to sail my mythological oceans of dreams�
My mind becomes an umbra soul,
communicating with my inner-person within this shell.

In the center of the debris, dust surrounds a lit flame growing larger;
my soul becomes a sacrificial holocaust.
My heartstrings fluctuate into mighty chrome chains.
Flames rise above the dust-like soil,
lightly touching my heart and formulating the tips into liquid,
leaking down the drain of my soul.
But alas, the smallest beam of hope returns from its sail,
it effulges up my chest, illuminating my soul with glass;
I am now a blacksmith, turning my heart of solid rock into a heart of gold.
Anger is a choice we make; love is infinite and true.
I hold no power within me; my love always appears to die.
Anger seems to always be that choice I make,
and hate is "only" a spur of the moment.

My body is a cloak, wrapping its warmth around my algid soul.
It has no home, it only suspires smoke from the twilight moon.
It travels with both the snakes and the angels...
like the thorns of a glossy rose.
Am I merely my treasure's intentions?
Where I am presently is unknown to man, but I see it ever clearly�
The wind kisses my cheeks gently,
as an exceptional scent encircles my senses.
The sound of my spirit lets go and penetrates my body,
breaking through the laws of time.
They reflect all through the clouds, milking the glass shields of eternity.
Weapons unleashed verbally, break this glass, gravitating it onto earth,
and striking the wet streets of yore.
So many emotions were captivated inside, are now unleashed to run the world.
Confusion runs rapid, austere love roams the mountains�
I am empty without my own presence.

My box has opened.
Bloodthirsty wolves dance around my open box,
gnawing upon my feelings as if they are raw meat.
Crows perch up top my head,
pecking inside my mind, revealing my innermost thoughts�
as shameful as nakedness.
Almighty horses, with their hooves of golden pride,
and masculine allure fall into my box;
my sprit as a whole has returned.
Days, hours, minutes, seconds go by in an instant.
I am now buried within the earth of a cemetery;
my eyes wide open, darting through the dirt that pushes me below.
And above me is my tombstone�
with "Unknown" as my epitaph.</size></font>

Um... all I can say is wow. (I thought I wrote long poems.) :D

But that poem was great! Very descriptive, it drew me in on the first few lines. Your work painted a very vivid picture, and I love reading fantasy related works.

I like... post more. ^^

wow this is very descriptive... :notgood: sorry Drea already said that..
you have a neck for saying precisely what you feel in such a powerful way that everybody knows (for as far as it's possible) how you feel. When people read your work they can relate to it even though they haven't felt it before.
and dear friend that's a very good thing ;)

Heh, merci. ^__^

Lol. I've written a lot of poems that rhyme and don't rhyme, this one in particular I did not want to rhyme. You realize that there are diverse natures of poems that don�t always necessitate "rhyming"; it all depends on the writer's artistic vision. All I sought in this poem was sheer emotion, not the "artist of the year" competition ordeal. Please, I don't want you digging through my poem and sullying it with your especial opinion, for rhyming will not make the poem better, it'd only make it into a different variety. You as a supposed artist yourself should have realized what's important for the poem is not in your eyes, but the writer's as far as altering the emotion goes. Eh, but thanks anyway.