The Purpose of Poetry


Lying awake at night

causes one to face their darkest fright.

Whether it be school or bills or paying the rent,

everybody needs a way to vent.

Somewhat hopeless and all alone,

with no voice on the other end of the phone.

How can I express what I feel inside?

It seems like a part of me has died.

I write because it makes me strong,

and then I can endure the weeks so long

Every week my grandpa writes poems for the kids at church,

as they listen attentively like birds on a perch.

He inspires me to write what I think,

even though it feels like I stand on the brink

of everything collapsing around me.

But that is not who I want to be.

I want to be free,

Free to be me, free to see,

The world in a way that has a happy ending.

Instead of one that needs constant mending.


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