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The big dance with life
Is the ultimate exam
Do your best to prepare
In order to get your share
Always keep your head upward
And take everything in stride
Strive for success
In order to relieve yourself from stress
Always use your voice
To uplift and inspire
Continue to be courageous
Teach the students to reach higher
Be that motivating force
Enlighten their world a great deal
Boost their inner spirits
With wisdom, knowledge and zeal
JDL Nov 2018
You must do it the right way
YOUR way is the only write way

They say nothing rhymes with orange
Well I am here to encourage

Yeah, go ahead and laugh at it
You don’t even know the half of it

Our poetry is for us, ourselves
Whether you’re ninety nine, or twelve

We commune within our souls
Another etch upon our scrolls

Our soul inverted, exposed
Something only we compose

Don’t ever be discouraged
Your writing is encouraged!
HePo seems to be a very positive place for poets, but for those of you who have dealt with negativity about your poems, this is for you.

Also, for you critics out there, this is only my second “rap” poem so be nice plz. ;)
Positives feedback is of course always encouraged. :)
With each day
There are new lessons to learn
The edification process is there
It provides the knowledge for us to earn
This my friends
Is where our visions become sharper
We take in the valuable information
In order to get brighter
Maria Monte Jul 2017
When graphite meets the silky threads of paper
Or when ink drips upon the golden sheet
A beautiful artist is born.

There are many kinds of artists in this world
Although today I shall speak of only one..
A neglected kind that does not wish to
Gain fame or to capture the spotlight
But rather to share to listening ears.

There be people
Who see the world through the eyes of a painter
But are capable of stealing the elegance
Of a dancer, a fighter, royal blood, and much more
And condensing what they feel and see
Into a narcotic thread of words.

There be people
With broken and shining hearts alike
That run on wheels of ideas and epiphanies
And feed on overstuffed buffets of salty tears and sugary kindness.

Idealists and realists,
The poor and the rich,
The hungry and the fed,
The broken and the salvaged,
The logical and the emotional,
This beautiful art is not limited to anyone.
It is the echoing voice of the heart
It is the pleading cries of the soul
And the smile of our childhood innocence.

This art we call "poetry"
It is the life itself whispering ideas into ears.
And if that isn't beautiful.. I don't know what is.
Utilize your mind
For it is a sharp tool
Do not waste your time
Your mother did not raise a fool
Learning is a lifelong experience
Continue to open those books
Fill your world with more wisdom
So that way you would not hang on a hook
Paradeaux Mar 2017
I once hated the dark,
Because it was not my friend.

We never spoke, and everywhere I went, the light followed me.
Just my candlelit lantern and I.
We were friends.

One day, the light did not go on, nor could I find my matches or a spare.
As I searched, I had also lost with it my favorite of rings.

"I can help." The dark spoke.

"No, thank you." I replied, hiding my fear with bitterness.

"Please, you might hurt yourself."

"I said no!"

Going about angrily, I stumbled and cursed, turned this way and that, stumbled and hit myself into a plethora of things and ended up tripping down the stairs straight onto my bottom.

-at the bottom of the dark and cold.

I hated the dark you see, because it reminded me of the former things.
The lost things.

It reminded me of evil and sadness, of misfortune and all fears and scary things.
It reminded me of my mother who passed and my father who is gravely ill,
It reminded me of being lost without a hand,
Of pain and loneliness.
It reminded me of the nightmares I had and the face in whom caused them.

I cried.
I had never cried.
But despite all my pride, I cried for the first time.

Suddenly a voice came from the silence.
"I never was one to cause such misery, I am the dark yes, but even in the dark can there be good things.
Your mother, don't you remember the night sky you both enjoyed? The campfires and the late nights you spent with her talking and laughing? The fireflies and the warmth of the fireplace as you sat and even went to sleep looking up at your glow-in-the-dark stars?
Then in the dark, you would sit and wait for the goodnight kiss and smile given to you and wake up the next, your father there and alive still. The dark reminding you that there is a new day of light and hope.
The time where you realize that you made it passed that one night, and that you are stronger than before.
You and your friends stay up late, doing this and that. Don't you remember them?
Without me, you would have not remembered even the times you had when you weren't afraid, but brave.

Wiping my eyes I got up and walked back up the steps, back to my room where the voice spoke again.

"Look, underneath there."

My bed stood desolate and cold.

"But I don't like it under there."

There was silence but I didn't want to hesitate no more in it.
With a large sigh I knelt down and looked underneath.

Piles of random things as well as dust, but there I had found them- a spare box of matches and my ring on top.

"Thank you."

"The next time you are afraid, remember who you are and all the smallest things. Without the bad, we cannot appreciate the good. Without the dark, we cannot appreciate the light."

That night, I slept without my latern.
I never hated or feared the dark again.
That night, I slept soundly,
The darkness a comfort.
For those that need it most. (:
Jobeth Bufi Jul 2016
Stretching up tiny little fingers to the sky,
Weeping out, forcing these unsaid words into the gut,
Breaking all 206 fragments of me,
Refusing to raise the white garment that declares,
It’s not yet over,
I will soar higher.
Somewhere out of reach,
Where the eye can never meet,
But first, I’ll be sober,
From all the despair,
Take a sip of honesty, that’s all I need.

— The End —