AN: All the poems here are free style which means no rhyme, meter or pattern of any sort. Think Walt Whitman or e.e. cummings. That's the style I'm going for here.
Dead –
Undead.
Clay.
Graveyard Dirt.
A soul torn asunder,
broken into many pieces.
Only
Hate
and
Anger
Remain.
What am I?
Who am I?
Am I a priestess,
pure and fierce?
Am I a demon,
ruthless and bloody?
Am I the dead,
cold and uncaring?
Am I a heart-broken maiden
forced to watch her love drift to another?
Am I all of these?
Am I none?
Who am I?
Time passes me by
As I stand unchanged.
Dead.
Undead.
Clay.
Graveyard Dirt.
A soul full of hate…
Now only regret
and longing.
A passion still burns inside me.
What it portends I dare not say.