What would I compare thee to?
You art like unto a Ithorian rose,
Wild and untamed, but beautiful.

What would I compare unto thee?
Like twin suns, rising in the morn,
Or the dance of three moons, setting across the sky.

What can compare to thee?
Only the cosmos, only its stature grand,
Can even compare to what I see from thee.

this is a joke
there's no need for love
sith are pure hatred
the force is my glove

tried to be funny
but those priorities are insane
so this is a poem
that's nothing but a pain

blood is red
i am blue
poetry is a worthless skill
this is worthless to me too

Oh Rosy Cheeked Lover
How your scales set my heart aflutter

with crimson stained tines
of a tail serpentine

the blood of our enemies makes me sputter

Oh dearest Va'nia,
How I wish to be the one to win your heart.
I wrote you this poem, in the hopes that you'll see it

I want only to relish
In the fruits of our labour
We'd explore the galaxy
The odds forever in our favour

It seems that fate
With twisted wicked tricks
Has our candles of love
Burning brighter than ever on brand new wicks

A single wish
That I've dreamt to come true
After being under your tutelage
Is battling besides no one but you

Oh Va'nia darling
Can't you see all the signs?
Me and you together baby
Can start up new figurine lines ♥

The Ramblings of the Guilty: By Malice

I don't know what the point of this is.
I mean, free verse poetry is just writing things
in a unique way, with unique words and a unique idea.

I'm not good at writing things like this,
I don't think either of us are,
but I want our team to win so I guess I'll give it a shot.

You're pretty cool I guess.
I mean, I like you, and you like me.
Which is weird to think about.

Two killers, both alike in dignity,
in fair distant space where we lay our scene.
Wait, wrong poem.

To be or not to be, that is the question.
Whether tis nobler in the mind to actually write a poem,
I'm not good at this.

We aren't good at expressing emotion.
I don't understand it and you don't care,
but we care for each other, and that's good enough for me.

I hope I slightly got across what you mean to me.
Whether you can make sense out of this or not,
or recognize that I took the time to attempt to write this.

You're pretty cool, and I'm glad you're around.
Also, you know that bottle of rum you were saving?
I broke it. Now I've got a headstart because you took time to read this.

~Mal <3

Lost and Weary Prey (A Rebuff of Teylas Ramar)

In one moment, you ceased
your harsh, sinewy smirk
and the twirling of your tendrils
to offer me honest praise.

“Master Ramar,” I plead
into the vented airlock of your heart.
“Dread Lord,” I breathe
as if your lofty throne would answer me.

No. I understand that every fleeting
glance from on high is poisonous.
I, after all, am on another team,
and Selika has declared this:

“No soup for you!”