

The Dinner It was a misty Friday eve,The Dinner by ~DrumUltimA
Dinner was far too late;
When I walked in that restaurant,
Nervous of this first date.
I was seated at that table,
Surroundings strange and new;
It wasn't 'till the waiter came
That I had spotted you.
I went ahead and ordered, my words
Clumsy and askew,
Your beauty was so distracting
The waiter surely knew!
Well that waiter, he was a saint
Because to my surprise,
He sat you down across from me
Right before my eyes.
Your golden locks, they swirled about,
Framed by your saucy dress;
And as I watched in lust, I found
My love hard to express.
But feelings can be shared with more
Than petty words and


Owed I cannot come to school todayOwed by ~DrumUltimA
Dear teacher, I apologize.
I'm far too sick, so here I'll stay.
My forehead's hot, my skin looks gray,
I feel some burning in my eyes.
I cannot come to school today.
My body's been trembling all day,
I've got a nosebleed all the time.
I'm far too sick, so here I'll stay.
I'm dizzy, and my heartbeat is strange,
I'm sore from my head to my thighs.
I cannot come to school today.
The doctors couldn't solve my shakes
And poor mother has no idea.
I'm far too sick, so here I'll stay.
I tried to come, got to the gate
But quickly did I realize
I cannot come to school today!
I'm far too sickso here


My Dilemma I want to write of love, but I'm afraidMy Dilemma by ~DrumUltimA
The poetry I make will be clichéd.
My words will all have already been said,
Emotions live to me strike you as dead!
I want to write of love, but it would bore.
And just because it's all been said before!
Even if I write with love and spirit,
I'm sure it wont be the first time you hear it.
I want to write of love, but I cannot.
I guess instead I'll let these old words rot
And think up something for you fresh and new
It's too cliché to just say I love you.


Only Four Months to Go The sunlight seeps between the window's blindsOnly Four Months to Go by ~DrumUltimA
It fills the room, it rouses me awake
As gentle as a newborn baby's cry.
But the room it fills is not a room I know.
These sheets are white, the walls are bare, and I
Can't help but feel an emptiness below.
A tube, a bag of water on a pole
Inserted in my arm makes me recall
Our baby showeronly four months to go.
The sheets feel strangely damp around my thighs,
My stomach's sore, I think my fever's broke.
I see you talking to a nurse outside.
I squint my eyes, the sun is bright this morning
It's too bright. Not the sun I'd hoped to see.
It stings my eyes
