Freshman year, cool September morn',
A day which brings despair.
Two warriors standing proud and tall,
Struck down by eagles of the enemy.
What once was there, there was no more.
No more warriors, but heroes are what we have.
Men and women, burdened by grief,
Rise like the Phoenix out of the ashes.
A year later...
Sophomore year, a cool September morn',
A year of pain and suffering gone by.
Two warriors, passed into ghostly passages,
Still live on, as clouds in the sky.
Every since elementary school, my poetry was thought to be good. Now that I am about to graduate high school, I want to see if I'm still good.
I stand alone in the dark.
My heart races with passing time,
Over and over again, I question.
Question whether I'm capable,