I sit in this room,
Protected in my sweet bubble
Where nothing can harm me,
Where there is no war or famine
Or disaster or pain,
Except within the black texts of our books.
It’s all simply ink,
Flowing along the lines of the white paper.
But my bubble is not reality.
No, in the real world,
There are screams ringing out
For loved and lost ones,
People dying in the streets
Because of whatever power
Is beckoning to their leader:
Fame,
Fortune,
A little piece of Earth to claim as their own.
Whatever it may be,
They pay no attention to the citizens.
Now who am I to sit
In this room, complete
With walls
And desks
And knowledge,
When other children just like me
Are lucky to get just one meal a week?
When some poor soul weeps
For the blessings and luxuries
I take for granted each day?
The world is a funny place.
There are hushed murmurs of hope,
Pleading for a chance to rise up and shine,
But the evils of the world are much too loud.
Good thing my bubble is sound-proof.
{So just another poem I wrote when I got bored xD My teacher read it and told me it gave her goosebumps!! :D Hopefully a good thing? Haha I dunno, but stay beautiful, my rainbows (: }
