The fire between them would never die;
The burning hatred would never cool,
Now their lifeless children lie,
They lie there still as tidal pools.
Malice that dated back a century,
Scars that would never heal,
A platter of worthless amends and meaningless apologies,
Will it last?
No.
Could cool love extinguish hatred's scorching flames?
No.
Could juvenile innocence end a bitter dispute?
No.
War is not a winning game,
Everything to lose and nothing to gain,
So many innocent, splattered with blood of the guilty,
And guilty who steal innocent lives,
You cannot live, only survive,
And if, somehow, you do then that blood shall stick to you forever.
'What's in a name, what's in a name?'
Title, power hate and fame.
For you are Montague and I am Capulet.
Who we are doesn't matter.
I am bound, like my progenitors, to hate the name 'Montague.'
When all is lost she watched her blood drip down..
~an original~
My English teacher asked to see me after the lesson. I don't know why but she wanted me to write a poem summarising Romeo and Juliet (we were doing it in class), I think as an "extra challenge" as she thought I was good at English. After a week of thinking and frantically writing stuff, I came back to her with this, not sure if it was any good. She said it was and asked me to perform it to the class. I really didn't want to do that so I told her I'd have to practise reading it. Luckily, she soon forgot she'd asked me and I never had to read it to a class of judgemental twelve year olds. But I still want to share it somewhere.
YOU ARE READING
hollow
شِعرI don't know what this is. It's poems that I have written. It's poems that I didn't write. It's old poems. It's new poems. It's happy poems. It's sad poems... Actually, just mainly sad poems.
