Competition Entry

One day, I wake up. The next day I wake up:
365 days later, I wake up and nothing’s changed.
Pollution, pain, people. Pollution spreads pain to
All animals; it is people causing that pain.

One day you will see what I see,
A world of wonders and greenery,
But only in my mind does this seem to exist
As pollution takes over our planet –
Please, let’s stop this.

In 80 years what will the world be like?
My vision for the future is like the wheels on a bike,
The possibilities go round and round,
But a Utopian world stands on top of the mound.

Transport like trains will take you from A to B quick,
Houses and buildings will no longer be made out of brick,
Thin metal panels will keep us safe and warm,
That is the future for a house, building or maybe a dorm.

Cars will not need wheels to travel around,
But will be able to float a centimetre off the ground,
Parks will be dotted around each city and town,
Up high and low down.

This example is just one of many,
It could be seen to be as small as a penny,
This is the end of my poem for today,
But the possibilities can go a very long way.

When I close my eyes I’m transported to a new world,
A world where the sun shines blissfully and the leaves dance endlessly,
A world where life is colourful and people are singing,
A world where creatures roam unharmed and the clouds as fluffy as marshmallow,
That’s the world where I want to be.

I see soldiers outside my window whilst clouds of darkness are consuming me,
Animals tortured and cities destroyed,
Human treating human as if one were an enemy or threat,
The sea rises as respect falls,
Pollution, Deforestation, War, Climate Change
This is world where I don’t want to be

The glistening light
Crackling and dangerous
For a winter’s night

I have short whiskers,
I am so fluffy and fast
I live in a cage

One cold dark evening
crackling orange hot embers
beautiful, smokey

Dark and glittery,
cold, peaceful and beautiful
crunchy and gloomy

This is not a water bottle, this is an echo machine;
If you speak into it, your voice echos around the Earth forever;
The lid looks battered, but it’s where echos have bounced off it into the air;
The paint is chipped, but it’s where echos have been absorbed into it to save its power;
Many years ago, the machine was created, and the first ever sound was made;
This is not a water bottle, this is an echo machine.

I am Isabella;
Cake Baker, Swift Writer;
Loyal Flamingo;
Verse Designer;
This is what I see in me.