Your English poems or maybe songs. And not only yours. Put it here

[Damn_Timo_Lover]

So..Let's put here our english poems or mb songs..n just everything written in English

[Perfection Freak]

Oh...I write in english...but I think that my songs, poems and proses have many errors!  And they is very banal =(

[Damn_Timo_Lover]

yes,I do xD
here it is
I wrote it when i was 14 years old..
        My wish.
I'd like to get something special,
Not Just a necklace or gold rings
And all the other stupid things
The wonder will come here again
I'll take it, if I really can
I'd like our sun to be more clear
And all the people be sincere
I'd like to listen-"There's no fear"
This life is great-I*d like to hear
Don't lose my dream,
Believe my feel,
And all this things will be for REAL!!!!

[AngelWithGuitar]

Well, it seems everyone here knows my poems but there aren't any here so I'll write them again.
My first one (I'll put others later).

It's not easy to love.
It's not easy to hate.
It is simple truth. But
I can only wait.
I remember your voice,
I remember your face.
Thanks for giving me choice -
Now I'm flying away...

[Altera Pars]

My simple song..

I remember one girl
Who was second part of me
I remember one boy
Who always disagree
I have crying one day
They had been attentive
I will newer show my pain
In that sinshine and rainy day

But rain is going
And drops splashing on the sleeping streets
My answers: what I'm doing?
I'm ask they: why I live?
But rain is going
And sky become be friendly and slawlier in crawl
I'm all alone, I'm sleepind by
By music in my soul

Rain's dropes like tears
Which going by black and gothic sky
I live in fears
But I don't know it - why?
I have no time to write
About my day and night

But rain is going
And drops splashing on the sleeping streets
My answers: what I'm doing?
I'm ask they: why I live?
But rain is going
And sky become be friendly and slawlier in crawl
I'm all alone, I'm sleepind by
By music in my soul

[Black Angel]

This poem is not my, but I like it. Poem is wonderfull.....George Gordon Byron wrote poem.

The spell is broke.

The spell is broke, the charm is flown!
Thus is it with Life’s fitful fever:
We madly smile when we should groan;

Delirium is our best deceiver.
Each lucid interval of thought
Recalls the woes of Nature’s charter;
And He that acts as wise men ought,
But lives — as Saints have died — a martyr.