Some will question why I just didn't edit the old one. The answer is because we can all see how my writing has developed since I became a small child.
I knew that I had to revise this poem, I just never found the right words. But I knew it was either edit or scrap it, and I didn't have the heart to eliminate it.
I tried to stick to the main idea as much as possible, but I also omitted things that I thought were obviously childish.
Anyways, I hope you all enjoy.
It's sorrowful but it's joyful
He's hurtful but also kind
It's freezing yet I can't bear the heat
It's mended and always broken
It's so loud I can't hear the silence
The paper is smooth and jagged
There are so many words on the blank page
The hard rock is so soft
I see the square that's circular
It's become a word of a phrase
It's living inside its death
There is something that could be nothing
It has a name but remains nameless
It's made by wood and made of brick
It's addition and subtraction
It's to multiply and divide
It's uniqueness and all the same
I see throught the transparent wall
There is love and there is hate.
"What" by bhscorch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License