What the seasons mean to me,
It’s everything that I see.
I learn about it all around,
The fact that seasons astound!
In March, my floral bell rings,
Specifically, on the first day of Spring.
In June, I go “Hooray!”
Because it’s Summer’s first day.
In September, I go “I Love it all!”.
Because It’s the first day of Fall.
In December, I try not to squinter,
Because It’s the first day of Winter!
What the seasons mean to me,
It’s everything that I see.
Blue drops fall
I see them because
I am tall
I ply towards the sky
And I dream for the moon
The cold wind pierces through my face
Every droplet of rain surrounds me like lace
The world suddenly seems dark
The rain continues to leave its mark
But when the world is filled with gloom
Flowers of every colour bloom
Perfection is desperation,
A call to be not human.
To be famed but not to speak,
As shackles to your living need.
Living becomes thus a hollow tree,
Thus there, noticed but never absent,
To be that perfect you.
Hollow, abstracted, muted, never able to say…
Why this way? Why that way?
And thus then you’ll realize—
That when thus eclipse shows its face,
And you’re broken,
Your desperation to feed on compliance vanishes.
And you realize—
You’re human, not a machine.
Looking through a mirror brings hope,
I tilt my head. Maybe there’s something off?
No, I can’t place my finger on it.
I’ll blame everything then,
looking in, I’m only words and phrases.
None of it could be the reality of a normal world.
Is this a realisation?
Your reality built into a mirror I can’t escape through?
That can’t be. There’s no way that’s all of it,
but if I’m shared I’ll be set free?
No ways to code out.
No words to describe this ending
world
of
Oh home, oh home,
I go to many places, but you’re where I want to roam!
Oh home, oh home,
It is lucky you’re not covered in foam!
Oh home, oh home,
Some are shaped like a dome,
Oh home, oh home,
Some crazy ones are shaped like a hair comb!
Oh home, oh home,
The nicest one in Rome!
And so as I raise this toast to home
Remember, home is not the building or the place,
but it is the people and souls who live there.
When your teacher says exam results are here,
You begin to shake and quiver in fear.
You could get anything, who knows?
The marks could be high, the marks could be low.
But even if you are not good at school,
You still have some talents that make you cool.
So don’t worry what your paper may show,
‘Cause in the future, your marks may be less low.
” A result does not matter. What matters is you.”
A sudden rush, a frantic pace,
A furry blur across the space.
A joyful bark, a wagging tail,
A nose that tracks a hidden trail.
They guard our homes with fierce delight,
And curl beside us through the night.
With soulful eyes that understand,
The quiet touch of human hand.
No matter if the day is grey,
They chase the heavy clouds away.
A loyal bond that will not bend,
Our truest, most devoted friend.
A man
Saw something
Moving
Hitting
The sound came from the water
Then psychological repentance
Why?
Is it a lie?
The sound
Was burned.