Underlining the main point.
Striking words to a page.
It's troublesome when,
One has no rage.
The trouble with poetry is,
One with stanzas united.
Going in rhythm,
With the sound of a heart beat.
Beating down the rhythm,
Of a Skull's drum.
The trouble with poetry is,
One life corrupt,
In a demise.
When the sword strikes stone,
Igniting a fire.
One heart, One soul,
Encrypting each poem.
It's troublesome,
When one has no soul.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
Underlining the main point.
Striking words to a page.
It's troublesome when,
One has no rage.
The trouble with poetry is,
One with stanzas united.
Going in rhythm,
With the sound of a heart beat.
Beating down the rhythm,
Of a Skull's drum.
The trouble with poetry is,
One life corrupt,
In a demise.
When the sword strikes stone,
Igniting a fire.
One heart, One soul,
Encrypting each poem.
It's troublesome,
When one has no soul.
English class poem
