I figured I may as well share some of my works, opinions and critic are welcome!
Letter from a bard:
In times long long past, lived the story tellers of old.
Writers, singers, poets, and bards, they all had stories they told.
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Stories with humor, stories with drama,
stories of Hero's, or lovers, or trauma.
Some withheld meaning, deep down inside,
some where for fun, and from reality to hide.
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Stories are a powerful force to behold,
they can take a simple event, and turn it to gold.
Gold that inspires men to think anew,
Gold that helps one in a storm, sail on through.
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They give, courage, and wisdom, and curiosity too,
Strength, and insight, all of this is true.
Stories do much more than most think.
Well this story is over, I've run out of Ink..
The real monster:
Eyes turn left
Eyes turn right
Eyes search for danger in the middle of the night.
Slowly it sneaks
Creeping on the floor
Careful not to make'a sound, as it opens up the door.
Now it is'a raiding.
And pillaging, your food,
Afterwards to race, back to its room.
The fridge is now empty,
Fringed and bare.
What kind of monster, have you living up stairs?!