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Literature Text
Stop.
Breathe the scent of spring,
ripe and golden.
Feel the rain patter and sizzle
from grey skies overhead.
Let the wind
brush your hair.
Look.
See the kestrel
hang in the air.
Watch the shadows shift silently
and dance among the rocks.
Colour the gulls
sweeping low.
Listen.
Open your ears
to the whistling wind.
Hear the hungry sea below
lash cliffs and recoil.
Amaze at the grandeur.
Write.
Breathe the scent of spring,
ripe and golden.
Feel the rain patter and sizzle
from grey skies overhead.
Let the wind
brush your hair.
Look.
See the kestrel
hang in the air.
Watch the shadows shift silently
and dance among the rocks.
Colour the gulls
sweeping low.
Listen.
Open your ears
to the whistling wind.
Hear the hungry sea below
lash cliffs and recoil.
Amaze at the grandeur.
Write.
Suggested Collections
I can't remember specifics about this assignment but I remember wanting the poem to be almost a command. I also remember wanting to make a comment about writing itself, and about writers, hence the final word.
Funny thing is, I consider myself more an artist than a writer now but this still feels relevant.
Funny thing is, I consider myself more an artist than a writer now but this still feels relevant.
© 2010 - 2024 Freesong
Comments2
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This is so profound. Even from just sitting here at my desk, it's rather inspiring. The way you describe things is beautiful. Very well done!