This poem is a flake of snow.
This poem is a huge, overgrown hill.
This poem is a mountain of sand.
This poem is the last snowflake for the season.
Shining brightly, it perfectly lands on top of the cliff,
Not moving nor sliding.
A fulfilled wish-
Satisfying the soul.
Cooling, chilling the desire. This poem is a flake of snow.
This poem is a hill with many unwalked paths.
Beautiful sceneries or a hive of danger?
A decision to begin or end?
Between grassy greens and deserted plains.
A life changing choice to become victim or victor-
To walk around the hill or to walk over it.
This poem is a huge, overgrown hill.
This poem is a mountain of many tons of sand
Whirling in the wind, moving to the rhythm of the air.
Perfectly hopeless-
The way they swiftly bump into each other without causing harm to any.
Sweet memories whirl in the wind of the mind,
Indescribable, indiscreet, indestructible… and uncontrollable.
This poem is a mountain of sand.
This poem is a six-pointed snowflake.
This poem is one of many other hundred hills.
This poem is a desert of sand.
© Pryaska Goorhoo
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GRADE 9
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