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Well, I was sitting in Earth Science class the other day, and I hate that class so I spend the vast majority of it writing poetry, attempting to recite poetry (I think I've got Coleridge's Kublai Khan memorized), doing poetic stuff.
I fully intend to write something to continue and eventually complete Deutschland Erwachte, I am still experimenting with directions to take it in though so I'm not sure what to do hence I do nothing. So I'll post this poem, which I think I did fairly well, if not for content then by the structure which I think is solid.
The Prisoner
A poem by SKILORD
An outlaw chained within a cage,
His freedom he may seek,
As his life turns from page to page
Each flutter leaves him weak.
He calls himself a victim
Of his culture and his nation;
They’ve turned their backs upon him
And the pages turning hasten.
The chains drop to the cold floor
His body follows quick.
The hardened man, his tears outpour
His past does make him sick.
Could he undo it all, he would, without a single doubt
But he should have thought of that, before there was no getting out.
Can there be a hope for one
Whose sins the soul do shake
What’s said is said, what’s done is done
Though Earth and Heaven quake.
To Eden there is no return,
For fallen, broken man.
There is no salvation we can earn;
We need a divine plan.
An angel is descending;
Into the prison cell.
To offer to its prisoner
An escape from his hell.
The light is shining brightly
The man his head does hold.
He looks not up, nor lightly
Does he his guest behold.
He begs now for deliverance,
And forgiveness for his sins.
The angel smiles upon this,
And a question forms within.
“For what can you be forgiven?
If the crime was not your fault
If your fate was given
By a culture who has bought
Your soul, and all that is you,
And holds it in its hand,
Can it still remain true
That you from sin could bend?”
The man, he smiles to hear it,
Absolution from his sins,
For if it was not his fault
How can guilt remain within?
The angels head is shaking,
A disapproving tone,
The guilt he finds not waning
He is not yet atoned.
“I have done these things,”
He mutters, within his prison cell
“And if salvation that brings,
Deliver me from hell.”
The angels head is shaking
Still nothing of the sort
The prisoner is quaking
He searches soul for words.
“What will you have me doing?
For remission of these wrongs?
I’ve done them; I’m confessing.
Why can they not be gone?”
The angel’s mouth is open,
A question for to pose
“Is this the God you hope in?
One who is to serve repose,
Unless you come to make a plea
And bid him for a favor,
For heavenly immortality,
Otherwise your sins you savor.”
The prisoner is on his knees,
And looks upon the face
He has not yet imagined
That God was more than grace.
That, though He loves us dearly
And though he does forgive
Perhaps it is not merely
For that purpose which He lives.
Perhaps we are not central
To the universe He made,
Perhaps He is more fundamental
Than anything for which we’ve prayed.
Perhaps there could be something
Bigger than prisoner or cage.
And then, should God be serving
Our hopes as our sins age?
And prisoner who kneels there
Locked tight and on his floor,
Prays finally, “Thy will be done,
Now and evermore.
“Let me better serve You
With the balance of my hour
Place second my needs for it is true
That over me You tower.”
The angel smiles to hear this,
And parting words imparts,
The prisoner is bleeding
The sin from out his heart.
The angel did not forgive him,
He realizes with a start,
The only hope he has then
Is that a Messiah’s done His part.
But little cares the prisoner,
If from the walls he’s freed
He wishes but to serve God,
And that is all he’ll need.
Give us now our daily bread,
And forgive us for our sins
As we, likewise our grudges
Clench to our hearts within.
Soli Gloria Deo,
Soli Gloria Deo,
Soli Gloria Deo,
Amen.
I fully intend to write something to continue and eventually complete Deutschland Erwachte, I am still experimenting with directions to take it in though so I'm not sure what to do hence I do nothing. So I'll post this poem, which I think I did fairly well, if not for content then by the structure which I think is solid.
The Prisoner
A poem by SKILORD
An outlaw chained within a cage,
His freedom he may seek,
As his life turns from page to page
Each flutter leaves him weak.
He calls himself a victim
Of his culture and his nation;
They’ve turned their backs upon him
And the pages turning hasten.
The chains drop to the cold floor
His body follows quick.
The hardened man, his tears outpour
His past does make him sick.
Could he undo it all, he would, without a single doubt
But he should have thought of that, before there was no getting out.
Can there be a hope for one
Whose sins the soul do shake
What’s said is said, what’s done is done
Though Earth and Heaven quake.
To Eden there is no return,
For fallen, broken man.
There is no salvation we can earn;
We need a divine plan.
An angel is descending;
Into the prison cell.
To offer to its prisoner
An escape from his hell.
The light is shining brightly
The man his head does hold.
He looks not up, nor lightly
Does he his guest behold.
He begs now for deliverance,
And forgiveness for his sins.
The angel smiles upon this,
And a question forms within.
“For what can you be forgiven?
If the crime was not your fault
If your fate was given
By a culture who has bought
Your soul, and all that is you,
And holds it in its hand,
Can it still remain true
That you from sin could bend?”
The man, he smiles to hear it,
Absolution from his sins,
For if it was not his fault
How can guilt remain within?
The angels head is shaking,
A disapproving tone,
The guilt he finds not waning
He is not yet atoned.
“I have done these things,”
He mutters, within his prison cell
“And if salvation that brings,
Deliver me from hell.”
The angels head is shaking
Still nothing of the sort
The prisoner is quaking
He searches soul for words.
“What will you have me doing?
For remission of these wrongs?
I’ve done them; I’m confessing.
Why can they not be gone?”
The angel’s mouth is open,
A question for to pose
“Is this the God you hope in?
One who is to serve repose,
Unless you come to make a plea
And bid him for a favor,
For heavenly immortality,
Otherwise your sins you savor.”
The prisoner is on his knees,
And looks upon the face
He has not yet imagined
That God was more than grace.
That, though He loves us dearly
And though he does forgive
Perhaps it is not merely
For that purpose which He lives.
Perhaps we are not central
To the universe He made,
Perhaps He is more fundamental
Than anything for which we’ve prayed.
Perhaps there could be something
Bigger than prisoner or cage.
And then, should God be serving
Our hopes as our sins age?
And prisoner who kneels there
Locked tight and on his floor,
Prays finally, “Thy will be done,
Now and evermore.
“Let me better serve You
With the balance of my hour
Place second my needs for it is true
That over me You tower.”
The angel smiles to hear this,
And parting words imparts,
The prisoner is bleeding
The sin from out his heart.
The angel did not forgive him,
He realizes with a start,
The only hope he has then
Is that a Messiah’s done His part.
But little cares the prisoner,
If from the walls he’s freed
He wishes but to serve God,
And that is all he’ll need.
Give us now our daily bread,
And forgive us for our sins
As we, likewise our grudges
Clench to our hearts within.
Soli Gloria Deo,
Soli Gloria Deo,
Soli Gloria Deo,
Amen.
I've read it a few time already and I'll probably return a few more. I'll be cruising this forum looking for your work now. 
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