Noise

The noise as loud as the train stomping its feet.
as loud as the schreeching of its stop.
in my mind the noise rises louder and pounds
harder and harder.

it forces me to come to a stop
my eyes as red as fire blazing from a stove.
it over loads in my head and i fall like and angel from the sky
im crying and the tears from my eyes falin like rocks from a volcano close to eruption.

by shaniya hunt

Comments (2)

Connie, There is no such thing as ' raising teens ', you can only raise them to BE teens ... and after that, in many ways, ... they start raising you! The good news is ... by then - - - they have gotten you well trained! B.V.A.
Connie- You hit the perverbial nail on the head! We go through the teenage years, only to go through the twenties, where more weird ideas come through. But, as you so eloquently said in this fine poem, it all works out at the end. Well done! A 10.