Learn more about other poetry terms
Thank the lord for Maya Angelou When the world went fast, she took things slow Her hopes held high when her head hung low She spoke her truth so we all could know The good lord gave us Maya Angelou
Somebody yells Glass hurls into a wall Hands draw up; a half-hearted attempt at a protection that shouldn't be needed.
On The Pulse of the Morning
A free me breathes in the air As I spread my wings As I sing and as I scream For joy No less I put my wings To the test And fly. And soar. And go through The open door
I'm no Maya Angelou, Mark Twain, or Emerson. I don't yet know my dearest complaints, intents, or direction. I've never been hurt so bad that I've been deeply pained, I have, however, seen enough to know that we need change.