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Descovia Jan 2021
On the run like a marathon
To bring holiday
Cheer to all of us
every single year.

You may be rewarded with gifts and joys
His bag carries fun and toys
to reward all the good girls and boys

Listen. Word from the wise.
He always check his list more than once
More than twice. He will find out if you
Have been naughty or nice.

When you hear the
** ** **.
We're going to have a merry time
when he is around!

Oh YAY. My heart filled with love and joy!
It plays a beautiful song to
make us feel safe and sound

SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN!
c
Julia Elise Feb 2017
Title (optional)
cliche word combination begging you to read on

Body
something about love
something about lost
probably something about brokenness too
a story of heartbreak and being destroyed

an overused simile because those are the easiest to understand
maybe some rhymes about how, like a bird, time flies by so quickly
a closing line that contains the only actual feeling
something about what could have been

Notes (optional)
a monologue describing the words that should have spoken for themselves

Tags (separated by spaces)**
#love  #supposedunderlyingmeaning #imissyou #thisisthecryforhelpihopeyousee
this poem is about the art of poetry as a whole, and how those who do not understand the power that words can have try to write the previously mentioned poems, and end up disgracing the sacred name of the poets' society.
We are each called on mission to touch someones life, or to be touched. When a person writes, all their feelings, mind, and emotion go onto that 8.5x11" sheet of paper. She may not have a spiral notebook, but will always have ink or graphite and something to write on; for she knows not when the lightbulb in her brain will blink. The lightbulb goes on in the strangest places: driving, in the grocery line, at the gas pump, or even on the toilet. She must have that ink ready, she'll write on her hand if she has to. At times, the only tree to suffice is a paper towel or toilet paper, but she makes due.
    He always attempts to use words that will evoke feeling and is not afraid of the darker side of human nature, or himself. He crosses words out, moves them around, lets it sit for a day and starts over. The editing process never stops; he picks out poems from ten years ago and switches things to fit today, but always keeps the original.

We may write in hopes that one day someone will read it and be touched, or we may use our pen as catharsis for ourselves alone.

Either way, we write.

— The End —