Poetry is an art
It can give tranquility, understanding,
And it also posses great beauty and knowledge to all who read it. Though it is still over looked.

Poetry is a outlet
Yet these words will go unknown to the many people I hold dear, and they will stay this way.

Poetry is the words
Of so many people with a multitude of stories to be shared. However my story is whispered and only few hear.

Poetry is feeling
For it allows us to express inner emotions, when we don't quiet understand them ourselves. Still I share this passion alone.

Poetry is expression
In which we can be ourselves and let go, and even know I feel unheard.

Poetry is peace
For it gives many a type of serenity in a storm, and yet I still feel such chaos within.

There is a time in our life where we have two choices,
and with this task it brings with it something like two voices.
I debate the options in my head like it's on repeat,
this decision is like choosing between two completely different streets.
I ask my family for guidance, so they could help me on my way,
but it seems they have chosen my path, based on what they have to say.
I feel if I choose one the other will soon leave,
as if I have forsaken them in their time of need.
So no matter what I choose each will both be wrong,
for these choices in my life is where both of them belong.

They say the time is coming,
They say the end is near.
But how come all these words have only brung me fear.
So I simply just ignore it, just avoid the thought,
But it's hard to run away from the feelings it has brought.
So push it all away, don't let it get to you.
Can they see what I am thinking, are my doubts see through?
People seem to fathom the things I just don't get,
But I hold on to my hope that it's not the end just yet.

The storm is coming,
The time is near.
Peace and tranquility are no longer here.
The sky's turning gray,
I'm scared to death.
The chaos and fear just won't let me rest.
But the question I ask is it here to stay,
Or like any storm will it blow away?
In this storm there is an eye,
Where the broke and weary lye.
So in the eye is where I'll stay,
Until there is a sunny day.

-Understood-

The blue shining sea.
The orange autumn leaves.
The simple things in life,
that make us feel complete.
The warm rays of sun.
The white shining moon.
If these thing ever left it,
would be to soon.
No emotions to feel,
no colors to see.
What would happen to people,
like you and me?
No sadness but also no happiness,
No pain but also no pleasure.
These things go together like,
Two birds of a feather.
Without good there is no bad,
without bad there is no good
You need two of everything so
It can be understood