Dirt In Your Shoes
Then suddenly
A pinkish strand of life
A squiggly wrinkled tube of life
Moves in the soil of a lifeless world
The most purest of souls
Living in the dirt below the corrupted
Lack of eyes allowing it to paint a perfect picture of the world
An Eden of fantasy
To a little pinkish strand of life
I look down at the dirt in my shoes
And walk home smiling
The Old Me
My soul longs for the mind of the old me
The freedom of the old me
The ignorance of the old me
The happiness of the old me
But that way of life has been forgotten, clouded
So it will simply be
A irrational dream of a perfect world
A perfect world
Once mine
Bedtimes
Lying beneath a heavy worn quilt
A mess of restless knotted golden hair
The boring moon tells her off to bed
While the rebellious sun begs for a chase
But the consoling hands of a father
And the shield of a mother's hug
Puts the buzzing world to a pause
Until tomorrow
Winter Baths
As the steaming water pounds against itself and the boisterous facet whistles and whines. I strip myself of armor and brute, and am left vulnerable to prickling needles of chilled air.
My toes dance on icy tile to the bathtub. Finally, plunging into the hot water, the everything of my mind becomes nothing at all. It fills my ears and silences the world. My arms and legs rise and fall. My hair floats across the surface. And I am here. Staring at a familiar beige ceiling, in the small rusted bathtub. And I am gone.
About the author: My name is Hannah Rog and I am 14. I live in Brandon, Florida and love writing poetry. I use it as an outlet from the hectic, busy world around me. I am typically a reserved person, however writing allows me to express myself in a beautiful way.
