Hayleigh+Poetic+Writing

 media type="custom" key="4443129" Grandad Grandad, your kind smile leaves laugh lines around your gentle chocolate brown eyes. Thin gray hair circles the back of your head leaving the top bald. Your soft peach coloured skin always smells of an unidentifiable fragrance. Your cashmere jumpers are always a soft shade of brown or gray. Your Gucci watch a permanent feature on your wrist. Quite and intelligent but always friendly. Knowledgeable about computers and a wiz at maths, you help me when I am stuck. Our playful arguments on which is best, giraffe or pig. Teasing me about buying you a plane ticket to New Zealand. Always willing to try something new and open-minded about everything. Generous and always treating people, you are one of a kind grandad!

Icy Cave Long fingers of ice stand solidly on their cushion of rocks, Freezing to the touch, Like an icy cage.

Warm golden streaks of sun glaze the ice, Casting a brilliant light upon the harsh rocks below, Slowly melting the frozen water As gradually the clear drops slide down the stalk of ice like tears.

Rigid rocks laden with a soft blanket of snow, Lie against the frosty floor, Like a rocky bed.

A light breeze moves the delicate snowflakes, While gray rocks stay ignorant to the soft wind, The ice daggers are resistant against the whisper of moving air.

Clear blue sky is visible in between the icicles, As a small drop of colour in a dull landscape, Small and meek surrounded by dreariness.

Golden drops of sunlight slowly fade to orange, The sun melts lower in the forget-me-not blue sky, Suddenly, darkness is cast upon the little icy cave. Reflecion: I think I used discriptive words to paint a picture. But the verses did not really flow well. Overall I am pleased with my poem.

Her lifeless, greasy hair hangs limply around her drawn, pasty face. Her hideous features fit messily into her thin face. A look of being bored is permanently set in her features. Dark vacant brown eyes follow you when she is watching you with a dark spiteful glint in them. When she talks her pale, white lips open up to let out a lifeless, monotone voice. Her stumbling walk shows the pain she holds. Once married to Happiness, but he left leaving Depression to wallow in sadness. Her cloths wrap around her and drape her slight figure like the problems that linger wrapped around her. Always wearing black, never smiling she becomes Depression.
 * __Depression__**

Depression is a quiet girl who mostly keeps to herself. She hates company, people annoy her. She pushes people away from her; not very popular she is hated by all good and loved by all bad. Her slim arms are always curled around a voodoo doll of Hope or Kindness. She hates nature and all things fluffy, warm and pink. The mother of Pain, daughter of Sorrow and Horribleness. Best friend to Loneliness, her enemies are Delight and pleasure.

Depression insolates herself from the rest of the world hoping to be forgotten, but she is always angered by Hope and comes out to take over. Her own personal storm cloud hangs over her head. It casts a shadow over her menacing face. If you stand to close it will swallow you up as well. Depression hates herself and almost all others. She smokes and is always out until at least midnight, drinking out her anger at love and courage. Depression is a dreadful friend and pressures you into terrible habits. Depression, she is always alone, no one loves her.