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Fourth grade is when I met him Mr. Smith, my ELAR teacher He didn't make words dim He made them a fine feature Incouraging me to write stories To use my words to send a message
We decided to build a house It was that part of time before school the leaves had started turning and the reeds in the swamp had died But there was still time so my brothers
They Stand Tall, Higher Than The Sky, I Know They Could Kill Me, But I Continue To Fight.
The beauty of lifeEven through this strifeIs people’s abilitytheir uncanny adaptabilityTo hold in their palmthat one simple objectobject of calmThe ability to affect
Life is a risk, once you're happy you feel like nothing can go wrong,
she looks at her reflection in the mirrorand barely recognizes her own face
Walking slowly my head faced down but it is too dark to see the ground Into the unknown I keep walking Still into my skin it pierces the cold deathly chill
Imprisoned Life Within a cage the heart does cry, No hope to stand against a lie And beats in pain to be set free
Mournful weeping rips through leaves And dewdrop tears rest so silently And I sit here perched up high Looking down at the time gone by I wonder of the years I've wasted
As the trees become pale The life sucked out of fragile leaves. The sky, covered in dull, meaningless clouds. I watch as Earth welcomes Winter With a friendly, extended hand.
pitter-patter like little feetraindrops tapping on mine pane bitter burns hiss and slitherremembrance dismantles my sane moist summers and eerie chimesfingertips lost within your mane
There is a time when one must step back and see the tens of thousands of backstories working together to build one using only the tissue of the heart. They carve in and haul out,