Poem I Was Required to Write for English But Am Proud of Anyways Mostly

The way that words flow over lips,

The questions the wind asks as he quips,

"How is it true that you believe

It's only by nature I was conceived?"


Eyes set deep in brilliant faces,

Branches marring wide blue spaces,

City lights like stars in the ground,

Distant galaxies yet to be found.


The scent of grass washed clean last night,

The smell of vanilla, smooth and light,

A dusty road with treads stretched across,

Plates of spaghetti, spattered in sauce.


Calloused fingers touching newborn skin,

A gentle rain sweeping roofs of tin,

Pink flower petals, soft as sky,

Playground pebbles, smooth and dry.


The smile that breaks through the face of the proud,

The fearful, the angry, those fought by the crowd,

No fight left to fight, no anger left here,

Give in to the joy that's polished by tears.


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