A/N So I found this in an old english book, in must be about 3 and a half years old or more. I vaguely remember writing it.

It's for your interpretation, so let me know what you think it shows/talks about.

Also it would be great for some criticism on this, I'll start you off - I prepare the rest of this poem to the first two stanzas.

So Read and tell me what you think.

These People

No one understands,

Not truly,

They like to call my questions gestures,

And just like to nod and smile when I crave their attention.


I don't understand why all they want to do is listen,

But what can they really hear?

And do they really want to hear me?


Why do they look but not see?

Why do they talk but not speak?


Why can't they see my envy glow green in the blistering light?

Why can't they hear my lions roar ring?

Or my claws scratch through the screech of their silent voices?


I scream out, why do they turn?

Why do they see?

Why do they ignore?


Nearby there's a cry, why do these people turn?

Why do these people see?

Why do these people run?

What's wrong with me?

A/N Criticism / Advice / Interpretation ?