Skip to main content

My Most Treasured Material

A poem that has been sitting in my Google Docs for quite a while now. Written fro a prompt given to the class by my fifth grade teacher: What is your most treasured item and why? It was originally a piece of prose, but I turned it into poetry instead.

Pencil
Long,
Hard,
Easily broken.
Grows shorter
As it's used.
Expressing
Freely,
Making its mark.
Never ending color
Gracing each sheet.
Line by line,
Shape by shape,
Word by word,
A pencil that can change the world.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

What Other's Enjoyed

Diwali is here!

               Hi everyone! Sorry I didn't post in a long time. It's November, and in India, people are getting ready for Diwali, the sweet festival of lights. Diwali is a festival celebrated in honor of Prince Rama, his brother Laxman, and Rama's wife, Sita's return after exile. Diwali is also the festival of lights. This time, I bought clay diyas and painted them. Diyas are oil lamps. In India, people are buying sparklers, fireworks, and other kinds of crackers. Houses are cleaned, new clothes are bought, and sweets are made and bought. here are some photos of Diwali: Happy Diwali/Thanksgiving, everyone!
3 comments
Read more

A Rainbow of Tragedy

Anger is red Beautiful and deadly It wreaks havoc With no determined end Passion is orange All-consuming and blind It drives you forward Until the ground gives way Content is yellow Peaceful and bright It lures you in An enchanting dream Sickness is green Disgusting and vile It holds you in its death grip Fingers tightening like a noose Hope is blue Mirror of the sky It keeps you afloat Makes you soar Indigo is fear Irrational and deep It pulls you back A shadow in your mind Pride is violet Arrogance and ego It chains you to the top With silver words and golden trophies Death is black Dark and empty It counts down like a bomb An ugly truth White is life Pure and unadulterated It’s a million miracles A beautiful lie
Post a Comment
Read more

Insomnia

Fear We keep it to ourselves Even as it plagues us in our slumber Even when it rises with the morning sun Anger We explode with our emotions An uncontrollable reality Of what we can become Rumination Fruitless nights spent on thoughts that collide A tendency to look At the half-empty glass And you ask why I can't sleep?
Post a Comment
Read more