Quietness is formed deep in our souls
A sense of dread flows from head to our toes.
A burning headache is all that is known
To hide from the noise and the beauty foretold.
Heads hurt when the music gets too loud
Or just the noise of your enemies friends creating a crowd.
A sense of dread and horror keeps us from talking
Although we are the only ones that do all the talking.
Hiding in the crowd is all that we want
To put this to an end and stop all there taunts.
We are the best and they can't say anything
Our voice is everything
And there's means nothing.
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Poetry
PoetryPoetry by James Matthews includes all his best poems plus special previews of his new works
