power of poetry

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Your heart’s thumping hard You can hear the drums beating Fire’s spilling from your eyes Every thought seem so fleeting   There’s a pen in hand And a word on your mind No one else can hear it
Why is poetry so useful to me?Does it free my body, or unshackle my mind?Or keep me from being lost in time?Why is poetry so useful to me?
They called me a monster, They called me a witch.  They called me a hypocrite,  A bully, a snitch.    They called her beautiful,  A sight to be seen.  More beautiful than any,
Welcome to the United States of America. Home of the free because of the brave. Where brainwash is at its finest.
How is it that all of us poets live separate lives, never meeting, never speaking, never working together, yet our voices are so similar? The way we all write, there is something that unites us,
it's easy to be judged for a mistake it's very simple to be ridiculed for indiscretions it's easy to pick up a gun and fire shots at anyone faster than a person's quick mouth
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