Arrogant, proud of glance
Despite the fate, he does not give up
Always feeling behind;
Yet always within grasp
Haunting pasts of anger, hate, and remorse
Not a shoulder to lean on;
But wiling to give up everything
Dare not let on
Tall, yet shorter
A glare to present;
Always a witty remark to say
Tempered, yet somehow caring
Black wild hair;
Charming eyes
Stubborn and fighter soul
What lays behind the face;
No one can ever know
~~~~Eeek. Why did I write this poem? I have not a clue, Piccolo is my favourite, and yet here I am writing a Vegeta poem….*sweat drops* I cannot imagine if I did good or bad on this poem. Please, if any of you are thinking of flaming my poem, think of this: You burn within your own flame. 10/10/03