Deadly Nightshade Posted February 13, 2003 Report Share Posted February 13, 2003 (edited) The winter chill cuts through the night air like a thousand knives The eerie silence binds the forest in its embrace The silence is broken by a hunters kiss The blood runs cold like a river of wine The smell of Death lingers The mighty Stag taken down in a moment The hunter clams his prize. The time has come for a new ruler of the wood Man. Edited February 22, 2003 by Deadly Nightshade Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Vlad Posted February 14, 2003 Report Share Posted February 14, 2003 Good visualization, but the 'The' at the begigning seems to detract from the meaning. Try using active voice... I like how Man is by itself at the end, although it might not hurt to have it separated by a few lines. Certainly a good poem. Keep it up. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Rune Posted February 21, 2003 Report Share Posted February 21, 2003 Interesting subject, sort of fantasy related in a way but also very modernistic. Think knifes shoulds be knives, unless Im wrong. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Archaneus Posted February 21, 2003 Report Share Posted February 21, 2003 Nope you're right Rune, Knifes should be knives, but good job nonetheless Nightshade. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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