**These are shorter poems with no relation to each other whatsoever.... I guess this is kind of like Anna's Nonsense Poets, but I'm not planning on making more of these....**

This letter is not intended to be taken too seriously.  Rather, it takes itself too seriously, which is what made it so amusing to write.

 - - -

An Encyclical on the Use of Lukewarm Words by A fellow Sinner in the matter of grammatical and linguistical crimes

Dear Friends,

Smoothly, upon the wings of night eagles,
it rises,
and swiftly is carried aloft by the wind

white as stars,
it flutters
before being caught again
then, floating,
before the grey of a new dawn
the wind slows, then is gone
the eagles have vanished, for now

the moon is watching
pale, and marked,
just as this is,
this thing that gently brushes against wet grass
in front of your house

You come out in the morning,
the sun is yawning,
that early
there it is,

A lone figure sat hunched over a table in the corner of them dark room.

The only light was emited from a laptop in front of the person who was tapping away with the mindless intensity of a machine.

Occasionally, the endless tapping of the keys stopped, the Writer leaned forward, examining what was writted on the faintly glowing screen.

A few strokes of the mouse, a few words deleted, imperfection replaced for perfection, in the Writer's eyes.

For an endless eternity the only sound in the room once more was the tapping of the keys.

“Got it!” I exclaim to everyone else’s consternation at the dinner table. I bolt from my chair, down the hall, take a flying right turn into my bedroom, grab some paper, scribble madly—rats, my pen is out of ink!—find another pen, scribble madly, and calmly walk back to the dinner table. Everyone is still staring at me, mouths handing to the table.
“What was that?” My dad asks.