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Poetry

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What really is the shortest poem in the world? What defines a poem to be a poem in the first place?

Contributed by Rachna Singh

I have a soft voice. I am rarely called upon. But my thoughts scream so loud And my eyes hold back tears And I breathe breaths so ragged They tear at my lungs. And I have a soft voice. I have gentle hands. They lay peacful at my sides. But so often they cling to my chest And grasp at the truth When I see injustice And poverty. And I have gentle hands. I have a soft step. Strangers do not look up as I pass by. But I will burst forth with all my might When it is my turn to inspire the world, To change, To fight. And I have a soft step. I have a loving heart. It beats quietly. But I am torn with anger at those who wrong me I will not be warm in the face of the wicked, I will not shy from a battle. And I have a loving heart. I am a poet. But I will not fill a stanza with meaningless rhymes And I will not simply speak of love As if injustice does not exist. I will protest those who hold me back. My words will not live on paper. And I am a poet.

Contributed by Sarah Aderholdt

I hate writing, and will never more write a poem When each broken home is fixed, each child never alone. When we cure AIDs, Cancer, and unrequited love And when we all stand for peace, not just the dove. So these words I write are painful Every. Single. Time. Because they remind me of sadness, pain, and hate crime. And inside I know others believe what I do but are too afraid to see what they believe through. So, to be blunt, can we all please grow a spine Because the world really is broken, everything is not fine But then again, in all honesty, I may continue to write Even when young girls are no longer afraid of the night And when the word homeless no longer endures Because people passing by believe the world CAN be cured. I may continue to write, but you will find me writing of beauty Because pain is irrelevant and we have forgotten cruelty.

Contributed by Sarah Aderholdt

Published in 1974 by Shel Silverstein. I remember this book from middle school along with A Liight in the Attic !

Contributed by Courtney Walsh

Anyone remember reading this for poetry class ?!

Contributed by Courtney Walsh

this touched me

Contributed by Malia Alexis

this truth can be received differently based on the person reading it

Contributed by Malia Alexis

Poetry is a beautiful way to express how we feel inside. It reflects the authors well, while enlightening the readers.

Contributed by Larrissa KayLee Prather

This poem struck a special chord with me.

Contributed by Keri Potter

"I went hunting wild After the wildest beauty in the world, Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair, But mocks the steady running of the hour, And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here."

Contributed by Samantha DeStefano