Thursday, February 20, 2014

Poetry

What is it?
The guitar strings I pluck to 
sing with my soul.

Poetry is,
the bitter taste of loss 
left when everyone's asleep.
The pain in my feet from walking barefoot
in the street. 

Poetry is everything you and I 
as a whole cannot say.
The unspoken words we left for other years
with belief that they 
would be said another day.

Poetry is freedom
at first glance its crazy,
unorganized and only skin deep.
But poetry is life,
and my life is poetry I'm still writing.

Assonance
The pain in my feet from walking barefoot
in the street. 

End Rhyme
The unspoken words we left for other years
with belief that they 
would be said another day.

Metaphor
But poetry is life,
and my life is poetry I'm still writing.



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