Now here's something that makes me feel old! A poem that I wrote when I was 11.
Anger is a volcano, spitting out lava,
Lava as hot as the Big Bang.
I feel he should be hanged.
Anger is like a face about to burst,
A balloon about to pop,
And after all your anger,
Things will never be the same again.
It is a strong bully,
Killing all love and friendship,
Hate is at every door,
Trying to break the law,
Day by day, hate swims by,
Day by day, you find lonely souls,
Day by day you see,
That hatred has left the town,
In loneliness and trouble.
As the man of darkness springs to life,
And as the sun goes down,
Death is at every door,
Under the moon’s silver gown,
The stars of night have a twinkle;
The gown has not a wrinkle,
The stars of night have a twinkle,
As silence travels over life.
He doesn’t miss a door,
He travels on and on,
And as the sun comes up,
Silence is then gone.
This poem was published in a book called Playground Poets. I found the book as I was tidying my room, so I felt I should really post this. I remember how proud I was for my poem to be chosen. It's funny how seven years later I look at it and think, "What the hell is this rubbish?" but it's obviously good if it was chosen to be put in this:
Do any of you have proud memories like this? Let me know!
And don't forget: keep smiling!