Gabriella Franco
Gabriella Franco Poems
’Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
...
Don't fall in love with me
I tell you, It's NOT worth it
I promise, my heart isn't worth
Anything this world has
...
9 unworthy tears down my face
9 unworthy tears leave a dark trace
The tears aren't really comming from my eyes
They're comming from the soul that's inside
...
It was so cool being a freashman
That, I must say
I got a lot of slack
And didn't get homework every day
...
Your cold stare
Is my heart's bait
it's the kiss of death
it's the whisper of hate
...
My ice cold blood
[you're not a warm-blooded creature]
Your ice cold stare
Is my HISTORY TEACHER
...
Sometimes, I'm a little rude, but just sometimes
Sometimes, I guess I can be creative, but just sometimes
Sometimes, I feel on top of the world, but only sometimes
Sometimes, I feel like I'm all alone, but only sometimes
...
The roses have wilted
The violets are dead
The violets aren't blue
And the roses aren't red
...
Lost to apathy
drowning in your presence
And I have no idea
Of what's good for me
...
Maybe I shouldnt love you
Maybe I shouldn't think about it
Maybe I shouldn't know you
Maybe I just shouldn't....
...
ABC... I can't go on
123... what's the next one?
My mind is scrambled
My heart is confused
...
When all their backs have been turned
When all your bridges have burned
When you forget to teach and learn
...
I dont know how to get back to
Being anybody without you
Conversations.. so relevant
...
A took a leap on love
because i thought you'd last
but once you take that leap of faith
how do you go back?
...
Uh oh! wakin' up from a dream
Wishin you were here with me
Jump up and down, now clap ya hands
...
Someone punch me. i want to feel pain
Bruise me. Hurt me. scar me in my flesh
Slap me, kick me, push me around
Pick me up and slap me to the ground
...
You act like we're okay
You act like we don't hate eachother
You act like I should care
You know we're the same.
...
I'm here to lend you some education
I am not a type of recreation
I'm makin myself a new, improved creation
I'm tryin to make a correlation
...
Theres a part of me that I hide
A part I can't let you see
The reason I don't get to close
Is because you CAN'T know me
...
I called again. dont ask why
I wanted to hear 'i was wrong'
I knew you weren't home
Maybe I could talk to your mom
...
Gabriella Franco Biography
-Born September 8,1991 -Has been seriously writing since about 9 years old -Published in two books for the poem 'Rescue Me' -Lead singer -Writes many, many songs -Lives in a 2 parent home, one deceased father. Stepfather. -3 siblings. -Walks with God but sometimes strays. Loves HIM with ALL of her heart :) -middle-class -works at a Starbucks in the Northbay, CA Sticks and stones are hard on bones, aimed with angry art Words can sting like anything. But silence breaks the heart. -Phyllis McGennlee)
The Best Poem Of Gabriella Franco
The Touch Of The Master's Hand
’Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
“What am I bidden, good folk? ” he cried,
“Who’ll start the bidding for me?
“A dollar—a dollar—then two, only two—
“Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?
“Going for three”—but no—
From the room far back, a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loosened strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As a caroling angel sings.
The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said, “Now what am I bid for the old violin? ”
And he held it up with the bow.
“A thousand dollars—and who’ll make it two?
“Two thousand—and who’ll make it three?
“Three thousand once—three thousand twice—
“And going—and gone, ” cried he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
“We do not understand.
“What changed its worth? ” Quick came the reply,
“The touch of the Master’s hand.”
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap, to a thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin.
A “mess of pottage”—a glass of wine,
A game—and he travels on:
He is going once—and going twice—
He’s going—and almost gone!
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that’s wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.
By Myra Brooks
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4/17/2024 10:20:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
You're a very good writter, Gabriella. You write from life and things that happen everyday. Your writing is unique and special because you write for yourself and you don't care what other people think. Keep up the good work. I loo forward to seeing many more great poems from you in the future. With Love, Elizabeth