There is a tree
That I like to see
It is strong under the sun
But it can not run
For it is bound
To the ground

I normally wouldn't post any fan fiction, simply because mine is all very cheese ball(My one about Finnick and Annie would horrify you), but I sort of like this one. Probably just because it's very short and simple and I normally tend to drone on and on in my poetry. I would really appreciate comments! Advice is very welcome!
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Hiding
A Pride and Prejudice fan fiction
Your eyes look at me, un-moving
Your words are cold, uncaring
Your glances are harsh, judging

I was re-watching Twilight a couple days ago and Bella said a couple of things that just really, really made me laugh. Apparently, I hadn't noticed them before. Let me illustrate:

Edward: *throwing things around, pointing out that he could kill someone so easily, trying to scare Bella off* I'm. Designed. To Kill.

Bella: I don't care.

Me: HA! HA! HA HA HA HA HA!

I don't know why, but that struck me as funny. "I don't care." She said it instantly, like she really meant it. (Did she? The world will never know...)

Below, they mock – “King of the Jews, your power is null -
Save yourself on the place of the Skull.”
His body is broken, His blood poured out,
These wounds that drive away all doubt.

With transgressors He is numbered,
With our sins is now encumbered.
Gone is every hint of sunburst.
And now - He thirsts.

An angel came to her, a girl
without riches or crown
A servant of the Holy One
to the peasant without renown

He told the girl to end what men
had failed to do before.
He told her stop what’s been
a hundred years of war.

A daunting task for one who had
never wielded a sword
But she would listen and trust
her death unto the Lord.

And doubtless was she met with men’s
faithless laughter and stares;
a lonely road for a young girl
to stand above and bear.

10/4/08 version

There is a chill
In the air
Tonight
Oh so soft and subtle
But oh so
Cold

It creeps
Up your sleeves
Winds around your chest
And numbs your heart.
It freezes the sky,
Frosts
The already-chilly stars,
And blows your hair
Gently
Around your almost-frozen face.

Dearest Aunt Eliza and Adrimond,
I know you will be happy and very surprised to hear from me, when I have been surely thought lost all these long long years. I find it is very difficult to describe in such a short space what has befallen me. But the postal service declares that letters of more than one sheet must be paid for with a whole dollar, and I (and Mother and Father) have no money. So I write small, as you see.

   It’s evening, and the sun is going down; whether you’re in the Deschutes River valley or up in the Cascades near Salmon La Sac, you will hear the chirps of crickets. If it is in the high desert near the Deschutes the beautiful chirping that you will hear will probably be made by true crickets -- field crickets to be precise. If you are not in the high desert, but up in the forested mountains of the Cascades, it will be a whole different picture. Instead of the lovely serenade of the field crickets that could lull anyone to sleep, a loud, obnoxious screech meets your ears. Eeeeeeeeeeee!

I just thought I'd explain really quick that I have not been able to post on apricotpie for a while, due to a full schedule which included 4H. I have been writing some, but only poetry, and I will be leaving Tuesday to work at camp Barakel for two weeks, so I will basically be pretty innactive for a while. But, I will continue to write, and you can count on a chapter or two of each of my stories as soon as I get back. So, anyways... Here's a poem I wrote today...

Dearest…

When I sit in quiet and in peace -- though perhaps not peace in my own heart -- I am strongly aware of the fact that pride is my worst sin. Pride in that I think I can do my tasks well on my own; pride in that I do not admit my mistakes; pride in that I hesitate to ask questions at the risk of looking like a fool; pride in my dealings with others, where I make assumptions about their lifestyles, and become satisfied with myself for not being like them. C.S. Lewis said that "a cold, self-righteous prig who goes regularly to church may be far nearer to hell than a prostitute".