'inspiration 'inspirescholarship 'scholarship
Learn more about other poetry terms
Why do we write, scribbling ink onto paper?
Why do we do it now instead of later?
Why indeed do we do so many things in life,
Instead of facing head on its many strifes?
We’re in a state of constant clapotis—
reaching chaotic spikes that look like progress,
but never really moving at all.
Simulated punctuated equilibrium.
I have a three year old sister, and she is my ultimate motivation in this crazy world.
Knowing that I am one of her role models,
she inpires me to push myself for the best grades.
Five to seven weeks
I’m hoping for past 80 years for me
Designed with a purposed
I had to find my own
Five to seven weeks
The tapping sound of tiny feet
Was enough to stir me
My passion for life had dulled
Until the moment she walked
O Sappho, Sweet Muse, you inspire me
The fragmented lines that scream of divinity
A love of violets, marble, and self-agency,
And yet you remain a ghost in history.
When I was in third grade, I wrote a poem about changing the world
When I was in third grade, I thought that the world
Was made of rainbows and glitter
But I knew sadness
I knew grief
I knew loneliness
Hold to your dreams as one would if it were alive
For dreams let inspiration live and not die
Life is as fair as a fish that can not swim
Man-made blemishes on earths face
lost appreciation for open space
tainted waters, a polluted trace
leading to a polluting race
selfish motive it's not our place
to take what's living and deface
