Poem Highwayman Novels & Stories

Only then did the coachman realize how poorly the uniforms fit the soldiers and how tarnished and neglected his armor was. "Driver, why have you stopped?" a voice asked from inside the carriage. The coachman recognized it as belonging to the lawyer. "Now, just come down and don't cause us any trouble, and we'll leave you alive." The highwayman raised his sword and pointed it at the coachman. The coachman turned his head to the left to look at the taller of the two opportunistic rascals approaching the carriage door. "What kind of cargo are you carrying tonight?" asked the garrulous robber. His tone was unpleasantly jovial and he gave the coachman a missing tooth smile. The point of the sword

All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o’er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o’er the scene Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! She leant against the arméd man, The statue of the arméd knight;

I will lose my cool and reach for my firearm I didn't mean to lay him down But it's too late to turn back now Don't know what I was thinking Now he's no longer living So I'm 'bout to leave town, ay-uh 'Cause I didn't mean to hurt him Coulda been somebody's son And I took his heart when I pulled out that gun Rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum Man down Rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum Man down Oh, mama, mama, mama I just shot a man down In Central Station In front of a big old crowd

An hour later, after searching for anything to help us within books that ranged from brand new to hundreds of years old, I huffed with disappointment and decided to stretch my legs; my pale finger trailed over the spines of books, dust painting my fingertip. Once I reached the poetry section, I smiled brightly. All around me were books from Silvia Plath, Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickson, Robert Frost, and many others that were like my old friends. Taking a random book off the shelf, I flipped through its contents. "(...) Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home." ~ Tecumseh "You enjoy poetry too?" A familiar voice spoke behind me, making my heart speed up as I jumped slightly. Turn

“Then he’s alive… and in their hands. Bishop, Vex… someone. And I’m the one who has to bring him back.” Tessa stepped forward, holding a few pages from the ledger she’d salvaged. “Some of it is still intact,” she said, flipping through them quickly. “Enough to figure out where they’re taking him. The old highway church… the vault beneath it.” My heart skipped. The key Saint had given me—the one to the vault—was still in my pocket. It had to be. “Then we move. Now.” --- THE HIGHWAY – NIGHT The rain had slowed to a drizzle as we sped down the highway, engines roaring. My mind was a storm of fear, rage, and determination. Every flicker of shadow along the road made me flinch. Every vehicle in t

It was getting dark and there were more people on the street. There were people selling small things on the side of the road, and the children would pull their parents to buy them. It was a strong smoke. At the end of the bridge stood an literary and artistic young man, holding a guitar in his arms. He had long hair and glasses, and he sang a poem in a low and emotional voice. "I heard that you were in the distance, so I traveled thousands of li. "I have blown the wind that you blew. This is not a hug."

He was about to curse himself when he found neat handwriting next to his poem. Rayven was confused, but his eyes followed the words, reading it to his brain quietly. Life is not a lot Life is just a thought As beautiful as I want Does not have to haunt It is full of ups and downs Of highs and lows of different towns With lights and nights of equal time You live and die for every dime I see the light that's not too dim I see that it is not so grim So, I try to light my world for me I try to listen; not hear from me