Biography of Fane Oat
My name is Fane Oat, yes, I know I have a crappy last name, so call me Fane. I am eleven years old, and considered slightly harsh. Some people say I was meant to sing and dance, but I don't agree. I will stick with writing and poetry. I have been known to have quite a temper, but then again, who doesn't? Mine roars like the flames of hell, dancing across a now golden sky.
I love horses, but at my age, that isn't unusual.
Fane Oat Poems
I got mixed up with the wrong gang, They smoked Marijuana and said lots of slang. I said ‘sure, ’ just to be cool, But now you know, that I was a fool.
You Will Never Be Alone
You will never be alone, God is always there. You will never be alone, With God there is no despair.
How is a first kiss, so special and true? If you know that there will be many after? Different lips, of shapes and sizes, I can’t take my first kiss from you.
The White Stallion
A pure white stallion, in a crowded pen, Whipped to submission by hating men. No longer wild and free. No longer happy you see.
I used to think you felt the same way, now I know you don't. When you smiled at me that day, I surely thought we were meant together.
Searching For Safe And Sound
I keep trying to be my best. Fighting, pushing, like the rest. Then I hit the floor, Since I can’t go on any more.
The Rhapsody Of Riding A Horse
I fall into beat with you, steadily, steadily. As we move along. My body is close to yours,
As a symbol of love to always be, The Petal is indeed a Mystery. All together, a romantic rose, But alone, this flower shows.
Everyone screams, ‘Yay! Yay! Hallelujah, it’s a Snow Day! ’ Hot Chocolate, dripping down our chins. Forgetting about all our sins.
A hoard of dreams, lost in dispair. It really seems like nobody cares. The trouble and pain to be a dreamer, Is even more than to be a schemer.
I tried so hard, to be my best, To be popular like all the rest. They stampeded through the halls, like wild Mustangs, I wanted so much, to be part of their gang.
Snow falling on the ground, Little white flakes to be found. Lift your head to the sky, And watch the snow zippin’ by.
The White Stallion
A pure white stallion, in a crowded pen,
Whipped to submission by hating men.
No longer wild and free.
No longer happy you see.
Torchered and hurt, with no cease.
All the Yelling and Screaming, there is no peace.
Yes I agree, he could be so much more,
With wings like eagles, he could soar.
But this white stallion, is truly a broken Heart,