Pride:
Who a wall so big
was erected to protect
the rigid of Man?
Greed:
How long may you keep
the rich treasures of this world
covet to thine's self?
Sloth:
Day and night shall pass,
but why you waste heaven's stars
lying with the grass?
Gluttony:
People in this world
dying from the selfishness
of sources you hide.
Envy:
Stealing with your eyes
the possessions of others
that you did not earn.
Lust:
Undressing beings
uncontrolled in your secret
away from pure eyes.
Anger:
The fury and rage
powers over sanity,
your mind not your own.
About the Creator
Robyn Welborne
I am an aspiring creative writer who is currently working for my double Associate’s Degree in English. My writing has no limits and no filter. Anything and everything from all genres; if I think about it, then I will write it down. Enjoy!
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More stories from Robyn Welborne and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Island of Oblivion
Where is here…? This land… is not my land. Surrounded by trees and brush as far as the eye can see. Escape? There is no escape. No end—No beginning to this madness. An island? Yes, definitely an island. Around the border areas is this special vegetation. It’s not really vegetarian at all; more so, as just metal beings erected from the dirt, covering the edges of the land stretching from all corners of the compass preventing any ideas of escape to the promise hills from beyond the waters around us. Escape?… There is no reason for escape. The island is alive. It hears all your thoughts and whispers. You are its prisoner. We are its slaves. Mind-washing the brains of its victims into a bittersweet paradise. Talk about escape is futile. You want to be here. You can’t fight it. The island’s power is too great for any human to comprehend the complexity of its intellect. Your beginning; our beginning—never happened. We always were. We always will be. Here; on the island. Its only inhabitants. Join us, brethren. Our fruitless beings will populate this wasteland through means only the island can create. We were brought forth out from the void. Nameless and ignorant; we survive through sheer willpower and stupidity, preventing Lord Death from visiting out doorposts. The threat is inevitable, but the survival is real.
By Robyn Welborne6 years ago in Poets
The Business of Nature
Dew drops reflected the light of the sun. The inhabitants of Whispering Woods woke up to the golden droplets of water on the leaves of the flora. The oaks particularly enjoyed the light and the maples did, too. Happiness enveloped all who lived there, even the rocks that cried out in the night delighted in the morning.
By Skyler Saunders2 days ago in Fiction
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