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Writing Out...a poem by Emme888


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Here's a poem I did, I'm sending it in for publication, (hopefully) at a Magazine. I want your feed back, and tell me if you were an editor if you'd pick it to put in your magazine.

A group of misfits,
none alike but all bound by the same principle.
Whether by death, a scorned or frightened love, or simply out of place.
No where to turn and wanting none to turn to.
Never to pry, but all an unspoken truth to each others own mystery.
Tainted and tossed aside by destiny, they wander.
Not accepting common knowledge, they fight using the only tool they know of...themselves.
Cunning gamblers, they all tip fate?s scale.
Whether with their lives, sensibility does not come into question.
When nothing to lose, but themselves.
Not sure of the determination, desire, or fear that burns their dimly lighted soul.
No place to go to, and none wanted; they go as leaves do in an autumn chill.
Blowing from place to place, never settling.
Seeming unable to catch, let alone touch.
All remarkable creatures, whether by an oddity, beauty, brains, or combination.
Always a darken overhead of clouds loom above them.
An aura not seen, but it?s presence well detected.
Caution eyes them with every stare, whisper, gesture, or glance.
Distancing themselves farther.
but their image engulfed on all minds to whom, but felt their essence.
Unable to forget their past, and none to forget them.
They simply want to be forgotten and to forget.
Their past haunts them so; unable to move on.
They forever stay as a band of misfits;
left alone in solitude, out of fear, to wander.
None wanting them, them wanting none.
Strangers to all who know them, the world, even themselves.
Unable to bear witness to their dismay, that has become an iron fortress.
Their hearts cold as winter?s unforgiving lifelessness;
empty as the corridors of a forgotten city.
You will hear no cries of sadness or agony.
Locked away this is the only emotion that they can still grasp enough to hold.
To touch into it?s depth,
an abyss of darkness and fear.
Welcomed is the fear,
the sensation carries them back to a time of innocence of their lives.
Whether it may be a day or decade.
To remember a purity unweathered and unwary from the harsh idealistic perfection of society?s criteria.
Not so now, bodies worn down to the bone, and the very core.
Nothing left but their memories.
Memories, or fragments of the imagination.
Either case soon gone to time?s blind course.
They all long for the moment when reality will give way, blurring the lines of sadness with hope.
A moment that will never come, but wanted all too soon.

PS- please be honest, and to anyone at the NAR magazine, this is not a publication, plus you guys haven't even gotten back to me yet!
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