The Beast

There is a beast who prowls this land,
Devouring the few innocent citizens who inhabit it,
It sleeps down by the flaming river,
Where it is hot with lava and molten rock,
And it breathes the flames that curl into black smoke,
When the darkness kills off all light,
And silence is no longer a blessing,
The beast choses his prey carefully,
Stalking them for hours,
Finally descending upon them when they least suspect,
Dragging them into his home beneath the rock,
Where light is a flame that heats up the stone,
Glowing and burning and cooking,
It is the innocnet who must endure,
For the guilty are unpure,
And the beast,
Is them...

A Feeling

When you read a beautiful poem
That touches your heart
And causes tears to form in your eye
It feels as though the feeling was always there
Deep inside...
You just didn't have the words to explain
You just didn't have the literary capability to fly
Maybe you had it in your heart
Yet your mind just couldn't understand;
Your heart gave up with a sigh...
But the thought will always be there
And when it is read
The way you had imagined it
The feeling comes flowing back