
The sprirituality of life can not be seen, but only written. How do we define our sorrow and our laughter without the ability to read and write?
Rated: Fiction T - English - Fantasy/Drama - Chapters: 5 - Words: 817 - Reviews: 4 - Updated: 06-08-12 - Published: 05-01-12 - id: 3018465
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Okay so basically I was going through all my old school books, not that I found many and discovered a few pieces of Poetry. These are from year 6, so there not that good... So if you enjoyed them, then read and review.
A wave crashes and shapes the land
Carving away with a single hand
And currents strong pull deadly blood,
That kills the sea and moves the mud
Tropical reefs now fading away
Bleached with poison, throughout each day
In a hollowed oak, with leaves of moonlight
The grave of a man, laid within sight
They marked it sacred of the place where he slept
With glorious dreams, the tree tearful, now wept
The tree grew wild, of the love of the man
No nutrients needed, for the bark to grow tan
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