What do you think of my poem?

She came into my room with a book under her hand,

She whispered something to me I couldn’t quite understand.

Her radiance blinded the eyes of this man,

I’d never seen a person shine so bright.

She wanders like the living and she doesn’t know she’s dead,

Do you, Lorna Whyte?



I’ve been living here for such a long time,

Like my father’s father, it’s a hell of a line,

And nobody saw me when I stole that drop of wine,

But somebody had me in her sights.

She wanders like the living and she doesn’t know she’s dead,

Do you, Lorna Whyte?



Once upon a time about a hundred years ago,

It may be even longer, I don’t really know,

A young girl in the garden trying to make the flowers grow,

But she never really got it right.

She wanders like the living and she doesn’t know she’s dead,

Do you, Lorna Whyte?



A sweetness so divine, she locked herself into a room,

Her only occupation was to make the flowers bloom,

But now her bones are powder in a semi-naked tomb,

Her hollow eyes were shut up much too tight.

She wanders like the living and she doesn’t know she’s dead,

Do you, Lorna Whyte?



Now you’ve got your presents and you share them with the king,

Whose ulterior motive is to steal everything,

He’s got your silver necklace and your antique diamond ring,

Which he polishes to make it shine so bright.

She wanders like the living and she doesn’t know she’s dead,

Do you, Lorna Whyte?



Now Jesus and the heiress take their property away,

While Mary Magdalene invites the boys to come and play,

And Lorna tells the prophet, it’s such a beautiful day,

Won’t it be sad when day turns into night?

She wanders like the living and she doesn’t know she’s dead,

Do you, Lorna Whyte?



Now society guides you through like you’re some temptress,

Grabs your hand and pulls you far away.

But I can’t reach to haul you from the darkness,

And pull you back into the glaring light of day.



Oh, you’ve dined with princes and paupers, who use you,

To gain some incentive from the artwork that they do,

They plead for democracy, but they haven’t got a clue,

What to do to make the system right.

She wanders like the living and she doesn’t know she’s dead,

Do you, Lorna Whyte?



The loneliest wanderer transcend from town to town,

A slip of fine leather between her sole and the ground,

Arrives someplace, gets asked, “What brings you round?”

She says, “I follow the moon each and every night.”

She wanders like the living and she doesn’t know she’s dead,

Do you, Lorna Whyte?



Now the leaders of the world in their offices of the elite,

Discussing the hungry, and what they should get to eat,

But some war-torn country suffering some great defeat,

She heads out there to make the wrongs go right.

She wanders like the living and she doesn’t know she’s dead,

Do you, Lorna Whyte?



She wanders like the living and she doesn’t know she’s dead,

Do you, Lorna Whyte?

What do you think of my poem?
this isn't yours is it?



this is sickening because i've posted poems and art work on a website before only to find it's been stolen but people like you who take the credit for it. It horrible all my stuff was copyrighted (just like this poem) do you know how much trouble you could get into for this??
Reply:That is extremely beautiful. I am majoring in poetry and what I know is that you are a very good poetry writer. you are able to contrast a lot of emotions in this and make it sad but you understand what is going on. Kudos for you
Reply:I am no expert but i like the way it is written, normally for something this long would not have finished it.

Thank you.



L ink below have a look at link may interest you.
Reply:Wow an interesting poem you got there, You should enter it into some competition or continue on with this..BTW who is this lorne White girl? do you have some personal history with this girl or is this poem just made up ,.
Reply:As Crazy Horse wrote...posting the site of the original poem: it's not your work...unless you also happen to be Gift Horse Mouth.

I'll donate a star to that writer.
Reply:awwww.......... that's sad. *tear* she doesn't know she's dead. poor thing. so, shes a ghost? do you know this ghost, this long-lost spirit? Anyway, that poem was great!!!!
Reply:interesting, artistic and good, you put a whole lot in to this didn't you?
Reply:Thats really really good!
Reply:What do I think? So-so. It's somewhat intriguing, but at the same time I wonder if there's really anything beneath the surface.



Also, it's a song by Gift Horse Mouth. You should give them the credit: http://www.bestofparoles.com/cachev2/9/g...