Learn more about other poetry terms
Wounds as deep as a tree.How is it that she is still free?Statistics say she should be broken,so many words that are still unspoken.What is spoken is not heard,what is heard is not felt.They are not blind,
Beginning of sophomore year something had changed. Summer had left us strange and our voice became locked and contained. We were silent. It didn’t happen to us all, it first only affected a few
Here I speak before you today in regrettable silence, For we have become a generation to be disgraced, for not only our actions but our power.
There are people who cry out for help Using their weary voices to ask for action But the people walk on by Stuck in their own distraction How many could be saved? If we threw out inaction
I’m not bullied,not me.I never have been,and I probably won’t be.But I’m sickand I’m tiredof watching these people laugh at other people.
Why I write That is the question isn’t it? Why do rhymes and songs of verbs and the paintings of words consume my spirit? To be the sustenance of my soul and the beatings of my heart? As my tears cry in poetry
(poems go here) I write because I don't know how not to, how not to express the pains and gains from the claims and vanity of this life.
Through life of worry and uneasiness, Delightful dealings divulge disarming doubts. But writing poems melts my life's mess, And slows down the mental fast-moving train.
When you get the answer to your problem; then you think it is over,Then get a little feeling of peace and happiness, but still, you’re not going anywhere.Then you feel that special guy really likes you and adore you,
I write to show the world, there is hope for the youth, I write to show the world that we don't speak lies, but the truth. I write to be heard from people who do not want to hear,
We're in a battle every day fighting the demons this world portrays. We get pulled under water like anchors out at sea. We struggle to find the air we need to be able to breathe.