What are we to do? When the ice from white, turns blue! With it, life melts too.
By Clara Clarkeabout a year ago in Poets
Wing of Blue Morpho Caged in a silvered pendant Lifeless ornament
Hands clasped, strangling stems Petals plucked, he loves me not? Cruel forget-me-nots.
Have you seen them too? Over there in the gloaming Bluebells shading them
Cloaked with anticipation I blink into a black abyss, On a velveteen seat of crimson Unaware to the awaiting bliss.
By Clara Clarke2 years ago in Poets
1910. Dartmoor, England. An unearthly cry shattered the night’s silence. The boy clung to the sheet that covered him, wrenching it up over his head. He had never heard such a devastating sound.
By Clara Clarke2 years ago in Fiction
I sit here eminently like the rest, polite and dutiful. But in truth, I am far from being like the rest, not really. For I am here undercover.
By Clara Clarke2 years ago in Motivation
“Have you ever heard a tiger sing?” Grandma asked as she sipped her tea. Constance shook her head, shaking off the sugar from her fingertips.
Prologue “Do you want the good news, or the bad?” “The good” “They know who did it” “And the bad?” “They know it was you”.