Learn more about other poetry terms
THE HILL by Barbara M Kite If I had but been more invisible There would have been no gauntlet to throw down If I had truly understood that what I did was not understood
Blessed with the gift of freedom We’re constantly at war with an idea The idea of being true to ourselves and to each other I sit, looking out, seeing PEOPLE, PLACES MOMENTS
What once began as a thought flourished as the words were wrought like cascading raindrops falling from a single spot The words my hand created told a story that was dictated
Different, Yes, But just like you; Only I have a gift. I can make castles, So pure, So clean. Watch, I'll show you. This city, A city of glass,
A painter knows it's love When they see the art in everything you do. When they know you're a masterpiece And they want to study every inch of you. When they want to feel your every edge
The cold barren treesNo easy sway, but staunch in strife.No green from the leaves;No signs of life.
I eat cereal with a fork, All I want is a stork. I eat pasta with a soon, All I want is a coon. I eat parmesan with a knife, All I want is a life.
Oh snap, look at that cutie. Click. He's gonna be there! *begins the irrational creating of scenarios*
It's an insatiable need. Hoplessly inescapable and all consuming, with a pressure that builds until you take heed. A final release of emotion, expression, a work of love and complete devotion,
You asked me why I write-- poems Why I write poems. Poems are free unbound