You have to read this poem

It's by a young poet aged 21 here in the uk

DESERT

It has taken years: clasping a battering ram
Under our arms, braced and ready to charge.
We are ructious, war-torn,
A broken state. Our mouths dusty and stuck
With old sand, wearing down our tongues.
And still, you stayed.

You are framed in our front doorway:
Always bent and precise,
Shadowed like burnt stone.
Sometimes, exquisite in your time-chewed chair,
And hot from the fire:
You are smoking at the seams.

My body is burnt, unclean, ash-brown.
It's gone on too long and I am weak as old lungs.
Today is the last day
And my ribs blister, but I'll ask you again
To surrender your toothbrush
And stay.

By Jennifer Lane, Prescot, Merseyside

This is really good...

I loved it!

This is really good. I love it

This was really cool

The emotion in the poem has just grasped me from the beginning to the end it just flowed one of my favourites now. 10/5 just amazing!!!

The emotion in the poem has just grasped me from the beginning to the end it just flowed one of my favourites now. 10/5 just amazing!!! I don't know what else I could say about this poem but just WOW

It is great!

Awesome

Yeah, this is pretty good, although a little twisted or complicated for me to understand. But overall, it's fine.

I totally agree one of the better ones I have read

A great poem! Hear, read this.

Maya Angelou's

Passing Time

Your skin like dawn
mine like musk

one paints the beginning
of a certain end.

The others, the end of a
Sure beginning.

Or A,

Maya Angelou's

A Conceit

Give me your hand

Make room for me
to lead and follow

beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.

For me
Give me your hand.

Or A,

Maya Angelou's

A Conceit

Give me your hand

Make room for me
to lead and follow

beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.

For me
Give me your hand.

Or A,

Maya Angelou's

A Conceit

Give me your hand

Make room for me
to lead and follow

beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.

For me
Give me your hand.