A poem is like a cloud
Which floats through the air.
It rises into the sky
Gathering in a poet's head.
It dances through the heavens
Wispy, yet audible.
Then it pours down
On the people below,
Raining its impression.
Which floats through the air.
It rises into the sky
Gathering in a poet's head.
It dances through the heavens
Wispy, yet audible.
Then it pours down
On the people below,
Raining its impression.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
Join the Discussion
This article has 1 comment. Post your own!