A Hidden Trace
Beneath the pristine peaks and snow-capped mounds, Lie records of our past and future selves. A precious commodity lying dormant, Safe from prying eyes
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Beneath the pristine peaks and snow-capped mounds, Lie records of our past and future selves. A precious commodity lying dormant, Safe from prying eyes
Across the dusty plains of southwest lands, An empty dish lies buried in the sands; With taps turned off to nature’s moist supply, As climates
With rising heat, the Earth begins to bloom, The emerald hues a fervent sign of spring; And every breath of air that’s taken in, A
As echoes of past conflicts start to fade, The dissipating fog lays bare what’s planned; Whilst treaties dance upon a blunted blade, With bloodied fist
Within the salt-encrusted lakes of time, Are secret bubbles formed by primal cast; We excavate these drops from faded brine, To understand the structure of
The sun-bleached earth bursts into flame, As lightning forks across the sky; A stolen gift for us to try, A burning life that we could
The final act of some forgotten star, Unleashes unseen light at breakneck speed; And once these cosmic rays have journeyed far, Into our atmosphere they
We need to breathe so that we can all live, And yet our lungs are not a perfect sieve; So why is it that people
I feel the powder beneath my feet; A sickening howl to the south, But I know that I am safe And so I dance with joy.