Fan Fiction ❯ I Am ❯ I Am ( Chapter 1 )
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By: GoddessOFDarkness290 
This is just I poem I had to write for my English class (which I can proudly say that I'm actually passing! ^_^)
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 04.27.2004 | Updated On: 05.13.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 458 | Visits: 365 | Status: Completed
This is just I poem I had to write for my English class (which I can proudly say that I'm actually passing! ^_^)
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 04.27.2004 | Updated On: 05.13.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 458 | Visits: 365 | Status: Completed
This is a poem I wrote for an English assignment. It took me from about 8:30 to about midnight to think of what to write and to actually get it onto paper. I wrote this poem in free verse, which means it doesn't rhyme. I choose to share this particular poem with you all and I hope you can give me your thoughts on it. Enjoy.
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What Am I?Am I?
I could be the whisper in the wind, when it blows softly past you, telling you secrets that you would never hear, breezing through your hair, weaving in and out and around each strand, gently caress your face in hopes that you'll miss me when I fade away and love me when I return.
Or I could be that bright star in the twinkling night sky. Knowing that before you dream, you wish on me every night and I shine brighter each night, just to keep you happy.
If I'm not that star, then I'm the weather, unpredictable. I could be bright, sunny, and warm one day, then I'm drowning myself in mud, darkness, rain, and coldness the next. Pouring my tears toward the Earth and watching them hit the ground, knowing the grass and the flowers are getting joy out of my pain, then have you make me smile so bright that it chases away my clouds of misery and my laughter is the rainbow that takes it's place. Maybe I'm not part of nature at all. I don't like that thought of letting people walk all over me.I could have an artist's touch. I'm an abstract, impressionist, or even a Van Gogh. I could be a tender stroke finishing the final touch in a light-hearted family scene. Then again, I could be that clear shade of blue in the eyes of a girl standing in the rain, with tears coming from them. Or maybe I'm not a painting. Maybe I'm a different type of art, like music. The smooth melodic sounds of jazz and soul, or an electric guitar in a punk or rock concert. Poetry in itself is an art. The words flowing together in harmony, bringing peace to the page it's written on and the hand that writes it. The word itself is like music. Po-et-ry.I have an idea of who I am. I'm poetry in motion. I'm sweeter than any love ever written or sung. I'm the ever-changing seasons. I crash harder and louder than any waterfall. I'm that annoying urge to jump around in circles and scream at the top of your lungs.know these things for sure.unpredictable. I'm complex. I'm myself.who cares?
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I Am
What Am I?Am I?
I could be the whisper in the wind, when it blows softly past you, telling you secrets that you would never hear, breezing through your hair, weaving in and out and around each strand, gently caress your face in hopes that you'll miss me when I fade away and love me when I return.
Or I could be that bright star in the twinkling night sky. Knowing that before you dream, you wish on me every night and I shine brighter each night, just to keep you happy.
If I'm not that star, then I'm the weather, unpredictable. I could be bright, sunny, and warm one day, then I'm drowning myself in mud, darkness, rain, and coldness the next. Pouring my tears toward the Earth and watching them hit the ground, knowing the grass and the flowers are getting joy out of my pain, then have you make me smile so bright that it chases away my clouds of misery and my laughter is the rainbow that takes it's place. Maybe I'm not part of nature at all. I don't like that thought of letting people walk all over me.I could have an artist's touch. I'm an abstract, impressionist, or even a Van Gogh. I could be a tender stroke finishing the final touch in a light-hearted family scene. Then again, I could be that clear shade of blue in the eyes of a girl standing in the rain, with tears coming from them. Or maybe I'm not a painting. Maybe I'm a different type of art, like music. The smooth melodic sounds of jazz and soul, or an electric guitar in a punk or rock concert. Poetry in itself is an art. The words flowing together in harmony, bringing peace to the page it's written on and the hand that writes it. The word itself is like music. Po-et-ry.I have an idea of who I am. I'm poetry in motion. I'm sweeter than any love ever written or sung. I'm the ever-changing seasons. I crash harder and louder than any waterfall. I'm that annoying urge to jump around in circles and scream at the top of your lungs.know these things for sure.unpredictable. I'm complex. I'm myself.who cares?