Friendship, good times, love , life , it all ends , and in the end you're all alone , in pain, in silence ,
in your own personal hell that feels like a distant deserted island

but pain never stops
with loss it grows deeper
until everything in or around you just rots

pain is enduring it controls consumes and always destroys
suffocating even the slightest joys
but once it again it never stops
always sending stabbing daggers of unpleasant feelings through your heart
until you mind body and soul are so miserable they separate into different parts

pain is wondering what is love ? what is light ? what is flavor? what is life?
longing for love
light from above
food not having a taste
wondering if it ended would it really be a waste ?

-Psychosis the aftermath of love

I am entering a poem contest. The poem must be in prose. However, I would like to see if anybody likes it before I submit. Also, can you please double proof read it?

Hello, and this is the Christmas Poem I have come up with.

Snow is dancing in the wind. Little children shreek with joy. Parents laugh at their antics, but secretly they wish to join in. Why can they not?, you ask. Well, maybe it is their age. Or their burdens. Maybe it is simply because a small part of them knows that if they join the children,they will never come back. Oh, the children know nothing of the adults hardships. Christmas is the best time of the year, some say. Others, however, say nay! What is so great about buying gifts? Clearing snow? Why should the little children be free from school? Well,to them, I say, you are correct on every aspect but one. The childrens laughs of joy are what inspires oh so many to buy thoughtful trincets.

Um, darling, the poem from which you quoted is not "The Call" and it's not by Jessie Pope. In fact, it's a poem by Wilfred Owen that was an angry response to "The Call," a pro-war poem with which Owen strongly disagreed.

Really? Your school wants you to write about MY opinion on this poem? I didn't realize I was so famous or that my opinion was so important.

Why don't they want YOUR opinion on this? How does your school even know who I am?

So can someone help me analyze this poem in a nutshell? Im not understanding it & I'm not finding any info online

A Poesy to prove Affection is not Love

CONCEIT, begotten by the eyes,
Is quickly born and quickly dies;
For while it seeks our hearts to have,
Meanwhile, there reason makes his grave;
For many things the eyes approve,
Which yet the heart doth seldom love.

For as the seeds in spring time sown
Die in the ground ere they be grown,
Such is conceit, whose rooting fails,
As child that in the cradle quails;
Or else within the mother's womb
Hath his beginning and his tomb.

Affection follows Fortune's wheels,
And soon is shaken from her heels;
For, following beauty or estate,
Her liking still is turned to hate;
For all affections have their change,
And fancy only loves to range.

Desire himself runs out of breath,
And, getting, doth but gain his death:
Desire nor reason hath nor rest,
And, blind, doth seldom choose the best:
Desire attained is not desire,
But as the cinders of the fire.

As ships in ports desired are drowned,
As fruit, once ripe, then falls to ground,
As flies that seek for flames are brought
To cinders by the flames they sought;
So fond desire when it attains,
The life expires, the woe remains.

And yet some poets fain would prove
Affection to be perfect love;
And that desire is of that kind,
No less a passion of the mind;
As if wild beasts and men did seek
To like, to love, to choose alike.

W. R.