LoneWolfJ

'tis this house upon a hill No tree up or trimming still 'tis with no turkey, no wine No lights seen, or any sign 'tis the people walking by 'tis their hatred as they lie 'Curse this house upon the hill! With no tree or trimming still.' 'tis the season to have wept To become what they accept. 'tis the season to have shame For the wrenches that proclaim. 'tis the season to have greed not the season to have needs With what brings, and what must go Rhymes with words that never show 'tis the season not to love 'tis the season not to care 'tis the season to respect lust and lost they never share Look upon this house of grave L

     "The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allan Poe (pg. 70) is a first person narrative of Montresor. The story is that he's plotting revenge against his friend, Fortunato, a wealthy man who is knowledgeable with wines. The basis of the story is that Montresor gets his just revenge against Fortunato who has given him so much angst. But no real evidence is ever revealed to claim these crimes of Fortunato. Like most of Poe's well-known writings, this story has a morbid tone to it. Such morbid writing could relate to his constant suffering in life. This theory could explain Montresor's constant complaint against Fortunato. Throughout the whole st

     Television violence is an on going issue with the youth. But how much of an issue is it? And who is really in control of this matter? The entertainment companies produce masses of media ranging from all sorts of ethnicity and culture. It would seem that we as humans are violent by nature. Thus, how can the media deny that there is such violence? If television violence actually effects children, then what's to say that the violence in reality doesn't effect them as well? They'll learn about it either way, but would it not be better to be safe in their homes than to learn about it first hand?     The first point on the effects of televis

The first hunt was the most important hunt to all my brothers and sister. They would each return with pride on their faces, bringing honor to the whole pack. I would watch my siblings as they'd leave to hunt, waiting for the day I would hunt as well. Being the youngest pup of the wolf pack, I was the last to hunt on my own. Yet it was in my blood to hunt, and when the day came, I was excited. There is never a day more thrilling then the first hunt. But mine nearly turned into a failure. The day began with my sibling and me playing as we sometimes do. I had just pinned my brother to the ground and was biting at his ear. Suddenly, my other sib

My pen writes both of devil, and of dove I write such words unkind unto a foe Shooting phrases like arrows from a bow My hand, it grips as if I wore a glove Such angst, but rarly outward I would shove Towards an enemy like a swords blow I'd take down each offending fiend I know To thwart them all; but change, as for my love My pen would write gentle as a feather To her my words would fly as through the sky To make her blush, describing her like art Of whom deserves this writing forever She'll love and hold such words always close by Foe, doeth I write with wrath; my love, of heart

Karma through my now through I karma tell. Smiled the darkness my the cry smiled her. At emptiness shined light darkness and at to. Me of from shines without cry me go. Today grey light darkness end endless today away.

Oh! For the single white rose, a prose. Daffodils and Daisies Peppermint and Pansies Line along the garden shore, a bore For down the garden lies a flower Single White Rose and all her power The people, to and from The garden they do come Search all the garden's adore, what for But no one stops to sniff the fair air Of the single white rose standing bare The lilies, they giggle The roses, they fiddle "Ha! You are just a slight gore, a sore." The flowers always would talk in taunt Leaving the White Rose to feel quite daunt. She had to admit it The garden would win it Being in there was a chore, no more She would plan to end