Do you guys remember Will Moorfoot? He wrote a guest post for me a while ago. Well, now he has a collection of poetry on Amazon. Check out his guest post again: http://margo187.wordpress.com/2014/02/28/guest-post-by-will-moorfoot/
If you like his poem, you should go to this link on Amazon and check out his collection:www.amazon.co.uk/collection-Romantic-poetry-W-A-Moorfoot-ebook/dp/B00K40LA7I/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1399191262&sr=8-1&keywords=W.A+Moorfoot
It’s “A collection of poetry inspired by the Romantic era of literature concerning itself with all manners of oddities from demons to cats,” says Will.
Visit Will’s blog for more https://constantinewrathings.wordpress.com/
The times of restless, ancient still
When all did bow to tyrant’s will
And raging beast did stir in mind
Of glowing orb of purest rime,
Who that great God bestowed upon
The ghastly truths of divine One
And how harsh lies of damned deceit
Would make His cattle, kneel and bleat.
How kings and monks would fall on ground
And beg The Lord to let them drown
The men who did not follow creed
Of scriptures law, by human weeds.
And so when angel did learn of
The pointless life and hollow love,
He rose above that smirking Lord
To strike him down for good, for sure.
And yet cruel God did know his flight
With ever-present, burning sight.
That angel fell to fiery deep
Where always cursed to wrongly reap
The souls of men who did not good
Nor either did they take the hood
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I decided a while ago to start posting guest posts to my blog. After careful consideration of the submissions, I decided to let Will Moorfoot be my first guest.If you want one of your posts to be featured, simply follow this link or visit the Contact Me page on my blog.
The stubborn gale wailed in the swarthy twilight.
All around, the lush, autumn leaves were swept
Into elaborate complexions upon the dank, freezing air.
In the distance, growing closer by the minute,
A windswept, shivering traveller approaches;
Intent upon reaching the small settlement
Of Rynde by midnight.
The evergreen wood to the right doth moan
A loathsome sound as branches and leaves
Are knocked and wrenched in all directions,
The dark Confusion of the luminous Night.
Pausing for a moment or two,
That wanderer looks up at the furious moon
And its angelic, burning…
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