Hehe--what a daunting subject to tackle. Or maybe not. A few of you seem to have read it and have seen the movie...so yeah! Ahem. Here goes nothing. I've recently re-read the series (which I tend to do) so everything is fresh in my mind. Yay!
-Homey :)
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Innocence was all I knew / ‘Cause all I had to know was you —“Eden” by Phil Wickham

Crystal clear waters,
Shell covered rocks,
That’s my beach home.

Rainbow coloured towels,
Sun-bleaching bikini babes,
Children splashing in the shallow,
Their laughter reaching the skies,
That’s my beach home.

People with boards,
Racing out to the endless, crashing surf,
Competing within themselves
To catch the wave of the day.
That's my beach home.

Green palm tree leaves swaying in the wind,
Their tips just touching the ever-blue sky,
That’s my beach home.

He had no helm, nor blade of steel
while wandering ‘cross the moor
A snowy owl flew near to him;
he knocked door to door.

His shadowed cloak went gusting in the wind
and flew across the breeze.
But few would hear his tale for they
were slightly ill at ease.

His hair was starlight gleaming through night
often hidden but yet there
and when he drew back his dark hood
they’d see his starlight hair.

WATCH WHERE YOU STEP

Fifteen year old Mackenzie was living in Germany after her parents death, but until their passing, she had lived in America. Her parents had been wealthy, and she inherited a large sum of money, as well as an old manor, five hundred years old. This manor was in Germany, and Mackenzie had never seen it before; her parents had only been there once. It was owned by her father's family for centuries, and it was always to be passed down. Now it was Mackenzie's turn to inherit it.

That following afternoon we were all aboard the Waveblade as she rode the smooth inland currents out to sea—thankfully, Bartholomew’s ship led the way so that we bypassed the reefs and shoals and saw neither hide nor hair of the sharks, and yes, sharks have hair. Kurrm’anair was fading into the ocean deeps all around us; its swooping hills leveling out into plains or climbing into erratic cliffs which came to extreme and abrupt ends as if to quite suddenly realize, ‘wait, there’s an ocean in front of us’.

The little Boy And the Horrid Thief

Pretty, amazing, awesome
People have got to stop complimenting me
I’m not like those heroines who have a lot of gumption
If I am, why am I the only one who can’t see?

I have come to accept the simple truth
That I’m plain, never good enough, a horrible person
Just a lonely, untalented youth
As I grow, the pain only worsens

“Such a disappointment”, he said
Is this the cold, harsh reality?
Have I been fooling myself because I was afraid?
Will no one ever learn to love me?

I would love any comments! Advice is also very welcome!
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Scarred

When you are cut
Does it scar?
When you bleed
Does it stain?

When I am broken
It leaves marks
When I am pushed
I always bruise

Do not hurt me
It won’t leave
You might move on
My marks stay

If all you believe is
Forgive, forget
You don’t look down
Don’t see the scars

We all are covered
In many marks
They show your life
Your survival

I would love any comments/advice!!
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Rhyming Lines

My mind is filled
With rhyming lines
The rhythm beats
Always just off time

The pen dances
Across paper white
The word’s cliché
The sentence’s trite

I cannot keep back
These jumbled words
My heart would die
So they soar like birds

My emotions show
I don’t go into hiding
When I have a pen
It’s how I do my crying