My Literature Teacher Poem by Infenity Covett

Your tongue is like an angry hammer.
You go and smash with it
the blossoms of the poem.
So ruthless,
yet so gentle
you tread to bits
the hidden symbols.
Can I forgive an act so sacrilegious
which makes my Gods
twist in their graves?
For it is their words, their thoughts
and most of all - their own decisions!
They wrote the poems as a secret
that will forever puzzle minds,
and tether souls.
Such riddles for the searching mind,
and aching body
and challenge us to feel the meaning.
But no, you smash them with your angry hammer
and leave no trace of mystery
in sight.
The enigma, of thousand hidden messages
that itch and twinkle
through the rhymes, the words, the grammar.
When I read them I am paralyzed
with awe,
but in those classes I'm just dumb and numb
and quiet
so in the end you'd say *Today we analyzed...*
You want to set the tone, but there's no gamma,
you want to seize the feeling but it slips,
you want to break it into tiny, little bits
you want to chew it up
and spit it out
(you couldn't possibly digest it)
you just don't seem to get it
but still you smash it with your angry hammer!