(This is my first entry, and it is a small poem/story that I have written. Please comment and let me know what you think about it.)
Hair that is the color of oak, eyes that swim in the bluest sea. That is Valentine. Age of the fallen Soviet Union and Cold War.That is Valentine. The fairest skin, which screams out with a softness of perfection but is tainted by those small metallic rings that pierce through his fleshy pink lips. That is the Valentine who loves to smell the fresh scent of a new book, loves to enchant his ears with music of all genres, hates to hear the story of others lives, and scandalous doings, and despises thte singing sound that emits from the small voice box that is nettled in his throat. He who is surround by the mother of his being, father of his hate, and the friend of his loneliness. In the home of cold weather in the state that sparks confusion to a classmate, Valentine lives his days. At the school with two languages, il ne pas contente, he is single and singled to a solidture of his own mind. But where every flower dies, another will soon bloom as does the flower of deep care is blooming in Valentine's container of life. Valentine,who wants to end a dull day peacefully, is forced into a corner of hatred, and menceing wods, forced into a brawl, forced into dodgeing flying fists of steel, forced to end the day with pain.Valentine might have ended the day, and the school with two languages rather painfully, that that flower of deep care, and deep passion arose and took him home and away from the silence of his own mind. That is Valentine.
