Well you play the widow
Mourning in black wool cloak.
An empty glass, sitting, barren,
A long, tall stem, see through haron.
pick up a pen, put down your guns,
we'll all stand and write beneath the sun.
Pen to paper, ink and cotton,
Lines of words, penned and rotten.
He sits behind me in all my classes,
Runs his fingers through his hair, adjusts his glasses.
It’s OK to cry on a rainy day,
It’s alright to sob when the sky is grey.
At some time in life, shooting stars disappear,
you no longer see them, they're just not here.
Dancing in the moonlight, singing in the rain,
Wading in the ocean, take’s away the pain.
Don’t bother sending a rescuer soon.
A contest entry
- Insane Tributes to Favorite Teachers... Build a tribute poem by stealing lines from your own poetry... by Melodies.
600 points, ended March 21, 2008, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Wonderful
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My guess is...
Now don't get me wrong, OK? I imagine your poetry is very well written, but this is surely class-act brilliant, so this must be your best poem of all.
Seriously, sometimes when we combine our poetry, they lines do something magical and that is what happened here. 
++++ THIS poem is magnificent! 
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I loved that line "pick up a pen, put down your guns." It'd be nice if we could all resolver our issues in a nonviolent way. Unfortunately, we can't. But that's beside the point. This is a beautiful poem constructed in a very interesting way. Great work and best of luck. -R.T
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