Is this it?
Is poetry just comparing feelings to rainy days and storming nights?
Is it just for sorry souls looking for happy sights?
Written by ‘artsy’ people with a somber view of the world,
believing that previous generations gave up the earth to the auctioneer and took it with grace when it was claimed as “Sold!”
Are all our hours spent with pen and paper
to describe a war that disturbs us deep…
only destined to evolve into vapour
or to be locked away in the corner of the dragons keep.
You get the love poem,
the r*** poem
and the “What the hell are you doing?!” poem.
We write about heartbreak and newly found love.
About a smile that’s so fake and what to do when push comes to shove.
But all these stay unseen
because we’re scared it’ll reveal us as less than squeaky clean.
Are my words just my own personal outlet?
Just for me to read when I’m happy or upset?
Or are they painting pictures for others to view,
painting pictures so that I can help them too.
Janeke v/d Eijnde, 16, Swartland Highschool, South Africa
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