Once - we were all that child.
Mother, what happened ?
All in Poetry
My words have escaped my touch;
my thoughts cannot find home.
To The River
I can smell burnt nerves
below my nose
in this dizziness, caused by a fire;
there is not enough air left for me here...
The Storm
A ring, a reverberation, a vibration, a brash ration...
This article contains amateur poetry written in verse (barring the two short ones at the end). Of writing poetry, I have the following to say. Firstly, it is surprisingly difficult. Secondly, writing poetry feels weird. Lastly, whilst I thought trying my hand at poetry was extremely enjoyable, sometimes I felt like abandoning it all and writing an article about something easier and, more importantly, less personal.
She was brought up by the seaher mind was the ocean...
My hands are sweaty, My heart beats too fast (not fluttering like the wings of a bird but
thumping like stones being thrown into water).