The Poet

While I was procrastinating doing things this morning, I came across some of my old poetry on my computer. In the 8th grade and in the first 3 years of university, I was really into writing poetry as a way of expressing myself and getting my emotions onto paper. I even use to share them on the first incarnation of my blog,  I Saw A Turtle On A Fence. It was such an important part of my life that it’s a shame I never really kept it up. I had even submitted one to a contest at school and won! It was a Spanish poem about loneliness. Rereading them makes me miss that sense of creativity and expression. Writing more poetry will definitely be apart  of 2016. For now, here is a sonnet I wrote for 11th grade English.

Red Light

Snipers run silent on streets: point and aim.
A target, the boy – his blood flies wild.
Lightning bolts rain hell from rooftops; their game?
To kill before being killed. Poor child.


The mice move on. Victim number two. It.
Her. Suspicious eyes. Bang! Bang! Red.
A baby wails in pain. Its heart was hit.
Both souls soar high towards heaven ahead.


The locus spread. Bodies and bodies pile.
Point and aim. The thunderclouds move for show.
Little girl, the target from a mile.
Her face says something that you didn’t know.


She pulls a gun from the heel of her boot.
The hunter now hunted. Point. Aim. Shoot.

 

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