Welsh, 13 years old, music scholar, and just trying to improve!
Three weeks in, Three to go. Counting the days as summer floats by. It's skipped passed, I've barely got a glimpse of the relaxation And quiet it promises. The first week was music.
This is true, but not written very well. More like a trail of thought than a poem, but enjoy. I've dyed my hair a coppery brown, Not red or ginger Like my sister keeps mocking.
When the sun peers through the blanket of clouds, When the birds decide that a five am wake up call is necessary, When I wake up and find the world a crispy white, That's when I think of you..
Has anyone besides me ever noticed that when you go to all these big orchestral concerts, the amount of people that cough in between movements of/or pieces create symphonies of their own.
Sorry, my app seemed to break for around four days, and on the weekend I was at a sleepover, so sorry. P.S. Went to the bbc proms last night, was very amazing, loved it!. :D.
My heart is my own. It is mine, Not yours. My heart is my own. You can not have it Not today or tomorrow. My heart is my own. I am in charge of it, Not you. My heart is my own.
I can imagine the sun setting over in a pink horizon somewhere. Not here. The sky is dark and smokey here and the city skyline invisible.
Just for future reference, if anyone has any constructive criticism it would be very much appreciated, just comment on the opuss concerned. Thanks :).
'I promise!' That's what they scream. Lined up on the windowsill still as night. Each one shattered in their own special way.
Learn the rules of writing... Then learn when and how to break them. ~ Anne Mulligan.
Look. How the moon sleeps, How the waves crash. And how the gulls glide like clouds In the dark, inky sky. Look. How the sun wakes, How the sand glitters in beams.
I know I'm not cute, I know I'm not smart, I know that I'll never Create the perfect piece of art. I know I'm too small, I know I can't dance, I know that I sometimes Go into a trance. But...
He who trims himself to suit everyone will soon whittle himself away ~ Raymond Hull.
Early summer is the best time of year, I think. The whole world cheers up, even the snails in their small shells decide to roam around more and explore previously undiscovered territory.