We don't write the way adults do.
Not in limericks,
perfect lines,
perfect rhymes.
We don't sign our names
but let our initials be our recognition.
We don't write about all the lovely things.
We write with raw emotion.
Translating our sorrows into syllables,
putting our pain on paper,
hardships and hopes of death.
The limits of our society
we see through fresh eyes
that have endured tribulations
far too young.
perfection isn't our aim so
we don't let the rules confine us
because our poetry is free.
//P.T.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in a mornings rush,
I am the swift up lifting rush.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.
(i did not write this. i'm not sure who did, but all credit goes to the author.)
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC