Here is an old poem I recently dug up, written when I was in the 7th grade, titled Revenge of the Dead. As an exercise, I have recently rewritten it, but the rewrite inevitably retains some of its former elements, and also inevitably, does not. Here is the original poem for reference and necessary comparison:
Revenge of the Dead
The screams of the souls fill the night,
But not one figure stands in sight.
The piercing screams continue,
But further I go,
Darker and darker,
To where no one knows.
The further I go,
The more agony I feel.
It feels like an arrow, an arrow of steel,
An arrow of steel that goes straight through my heart,
The pain is incredible, where do I start?
The trees start to laugh and the sky starts to fall,
The ground starts to burst and the animals grow tall.
The victims of hunting and warfare I see,
All of their cries come to haunt me.
"It was not me!" I said with a cry,
Figuring anything was worth a try.
But I killed all these victims! I knew very well,
I was the one that sent them to hell.
"Liar!" they all said and "Liar!" again,
I felt a frightening shock right the.
This sight was incredible (but bad) to see,
All of their weapons were pointed at me.
Tearing through the flesh, skin and bone,
Then suddenly came a silencing tone.
After they attacked me, they just left me there,
Making me take all the pain and despair.
Lying there helpless in my pool of blood,
My last breath of life was lost in mud...
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