Part 2.

I woke up and looked out, hoping that we were finally there, but we weren't and we were still driving to Bamburgh. I sighed and moaned and stretched my limbs as best I could in the cramped taxi cab. It felt like the ride would never end.

I looked out the window and saw more annoying bright green grass, from miles and miles around, it was everywhere! Hills and rocks and Grey skies. I growled deeply in my throat and folded my arms on my chest.

John Benson was in the passenger seat, dowsing softly.

Chapter three.

 The grate galactic war

Chapter4

The prison

I catch you lingering in night.
Dark trench coat
blending into dusk
drifting in the breeze

Walking the way
you always walked,
silent as leaves
floating down.

Are you happy in the night?
I watch you from the frost-clouded window.
A single lantern lit.
A single shard on the ground.

Matthew Torrent remembered standing before the elders. Only then his name was not Matthew. He had a name more musical than any human name could ever be; he liked Matthew better. He had run away from the first day he had known about the prophecy. He had hidden among the caves that gleamed black like earth’s jet. He had found the secret rooms in the Empress’ tower. He had found company in the people the elders had never bothered much about, but at that moment it seemed that it was all coming to an end, unless he did something about it.

 {thank you for your comments on the first part! I've changed some things - though I haven't put it up on here, it was minor editing and taking out some of the redundencies in long sections of thought. Here's part 2!}

        Mia passed a plate to Lile.

        “How will we ever survive?” Lile asked. She looked at the thin slice of bread on her plate. A few peas rolled around it, and a tiny piece of cheese finished the meal.

        “The Creator will provide,” Mia said, handing Coem his dinner.

Chapter Nineteen

They compare eyes to windows,
a way of looking in;
or glassy, like a mirror--
are you but a reflection?

Eyes like water, too, they say:
deep pools, deep seas.
But pools may freeze
and seas may swell with storm.

Glass and water, they trade
similes as one and same.
A pool of tears, a looking glass--
I'm always slipping through.

But I can't reach through this mirror.
Ice has covered
the pool of your reflection;
there is frost on the window to your soul.

Perhaps visual poetry is a term I've made up. hehe! 

But the outline and look of the poem below is meant to play with your mind. LOL.

Enjoyy! 

----

Ha! Laugh all you want.

                 I once was a child, too.

Even if I'm a little different now.

                                   Try to understand? 

I find it funny when you

                   "Taunt! Taunt! Tease!"

     Am I mocking you, dear?

Part 1.