Learn more about other poetry terms
In the Darkest Journey of Woods; The Twinkling of your blissful eyes; Reflects the tranquility of bygone days; Where the wandering of our souls; Passing the shadows of life;
here you are. sitting on the cold sand the smell reminding you of the solid aster your father brought your mother. you didn't know you'd make it down this winding road
2016 played out like a song, Starting off slow then dropping the bass. But wait let's take it back to the intro Where things where slow And break it all down To the things only I know.
High school and college became stressful and I began to doubt myself We got a new president and as a minority I began to fear the future, itself
I'm sick and tired I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired I'm sick and tired of turning on the news to see innocent people being hurt
The last year has been a slippery slope. Junior year is like walking a tight rope. They say get ready for the SAT
Im not really known but your gonna know a bit about my life, some struggles and some pains, the things I had to fight . Im not here to complain, im only here to explain,
Senior year Senior year They expect so much yet instruct so little. Applications due. Grades improved. Late nights at work. But it will soon all be a memory.
Heading to your destination in the car i call it the modern horse we drive with our phones they rode with a whip we drive with a heater and a very loud speaker They had nothing deeper
Band is hard. Band is life. Therefore, life is hard.
Education is really cool So stay in school Learn about different things Spread ur wings Be free Keep what you learn For later in life So you don't have to pay the price
"He stole what was mine He stole mine. What he stole, I owned I cherished I adored. He stole what was mine
Writing is expression It allows you to no longer be a caged bird you can easily fly and soar Its a promise that you can be yourself and not feel judged Writing has help me get over my shyness
The heat from the fire Doesn't quite reach me But you make sure I'm warm As the fire dims, The conversation grows We've been sitting for hours But we don't seem to notice the
The first time I met you, Poetry, I was silent. The rhythm of word embodied all I could not speak. I felt you, as you cradled my heart,