I like poems! They're fun to write, and once I get an idea down, the pen does too, and doesn't come up until the thought process is done, or the emotion is gone.
So post any and all poems/free writing!
The road to revolt isn't Paul Revere's
ride at midnight.
It's that man who yells down at the
end of the street,
Covered by a throng,
The one you're not allowed near.
It's the raised hand,
The one you're not allowed to fight,
The one you can't say no too.
It's the stopper
hat keeps you silent;
Glaring, yet silent.
It's the man dragged out of his room,
by men in red.
It's the looks,
Those armored men receive,
Walking down the paved walk,
Looks of their own.
Its the bears tanks,
Creeping down the dusty
neighborhood,
The threads kicking it up.
It's the sunlight blocked out not with
oppression,
But with smoke.
The road to revolt isn't the first shot.
It's who fired it.
((Something i'm proud of (though it might not be the best) to start off!))
So post any and all poems/free writing!
The road to revolt isn't Paul Revere's
ride at midnight.
It's that man who yells down at the
end of the street,
Covered by a throng,
The one you're not allowed near.
It's the raised hand,
The one you're not allowed to fight,
The one you can't say no too.
It's the stopper
hat keeps you silent;
Glaring, yet silent.
It's the man dragged out of his room,
by men in red.
It's the looks,
Those armored men receive,
Walking down the paved walk,
Looks of their own.
Its the bears tanks,
Creeping down the dusty
neighborhood,
The threads kicking it up.
It's the sunlight blocked out not with
oppression,
But with smoke.
The road to revolt isn't the first shot.
It's who fired it.
((Something i'm proud of (though it might not be the best) to start off!))
