The night had grown pitch black, with thundering skies. Only the frequent flashes of lightning to reveal the earth. The boy, no older than thirteen, held himself hunched over in the rain.
By Tristan Crosby6 years ago in Psyche
The tree amongst the newly free, Folk celebrating with happy yells that none mocked, The land reclaimed its own important key,
By Tristan Crosby6 years ago in Poets
A cacophony of unnatural and natural, Crashing waves and screams collide, Groans of protest of a great ship, Despair of those who nature denied.
Awe-inspiring that knight stood strong, Dressed in shining mail, Determined to be victor again without fail, The people cheering hard and long.