A reflection on a poem called Silence by Thomas Hood.

For a wolf and his mate.

Some birds just aren’t meant for the ghetto.

Poetry.

Though the ophidian friends have never entered a physics or science class in their lifetimes, they make use of the simple machine principles to get maximum work done with least effort spent.

I let myself go again. Just another addition to my little black book. ;P.

Poem about a man who has turned out to be just a petty hood.

Another Triond poem by me.

One of a collection of stort stories.

A rhyming poem.