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I hate to become some sort of philosopher but this question has been on my mind for a while. I think a bad person is someone who endangers the rights of anyone else.
He was wet. He was cold. He was hungry. His blood craving nicotine. His mood was as dark as the clouds in the sky, as he thought of what could have been. He could have been a contender.
In a little while we will all vanish, Everybody's hard worked for reputations soon to be tarnished. Why care what our repute of you is. When soon you will have wilted just as the rest.
All my articles have something hidden in them. All you have to do, is read between the lines. The purpose of this article, is to understand how it feels when a person finds that nothing is as it...
You're So Different Part Five "One step further, and she dies." Kory yelled. I took one closer. He pointed the gun at me. "Oh, come on. I move away, she dies. I move closer, I die.
There it was, upon the floor, a fat and bulbous purse I'd noticed who had dropped it, a lovely looking nurse Thought she may have realised, but she carried on her way So I picked it up, thought to...
ANTS ANTS EVERYWHERE.
Card on show, it was the ace.
Oh woe is me.
If I were raised in that way Would I too be fascist. If I was brought up to believe in x power Would I beat up a couple of Asian supporters. If I was a coward Would I stand by and watch.
Doing the right thing. Suggested by: @TheStory (Hope this is what you meant) Sometimes its hard to do the right thing, it could be having to tell on your friend.
If only I had a watch that could turn back time. I'd go back and not get caught up in that crime. I'd be sure that I never got involved. Instead of stupidly assuming that clearance was resolved.
Can you take a message for me.
The heart of the sky is lit in his eyes,. O, mighty eagle, predator true,. Guide us to the homeland,. Our families too,. Yes, he replied,. But a price you must pay,. The heart of your child,.
Whilst on the beach in Spain on a pedalo Something caught my eye that incensed me so A chimp being dragged around on a very short chain For pictures to be had with tourists so vain I was mortified by...
[A little prologue to the final part of Weathered Worlds] “Come on, my daughter, we have to keep in the rain.
Please drive carefully through the village. 30 miles per hour. Don't hurry. Look out for your fellow man.
The elderly Italian man went to his parish priest and asked if the priest would hear his confession. "Of course, my son," said the priest.
In a little town somewhere in a snowy land lived a little boy called will. He was a calm and quiet boy who didn't stand out in any way.
"The target was taken out. But he wasn't the only one she hit. He dodged, her bullet fatally hitting an innocent." Peter informed.
The guy on the barriers was talking to a young lad about his ticket. "So you've been robbed?" asks my colleague. "What?" "You just told me someone stole your ticket so you had to get this one.
He put his flask back into the inside pocket of his grubby brown coat and then wiped the droplets of swill off his unshaven face and onto the back of his sleeve.
I've been faced with a bit of a dillema lately. Enter, Julius Caesar, well not really, his name is Andy, but I deemed that far too plain to be interesting, so let us call him Julius as with Cassius.
I wrote the following poem a number of years ago (aged 14!) in response to a series of dramatic monologues known collectively as 'Stobhill' by Edwin Morgan.