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The very first poem
Landed on a chair,
Paper in front of me.
Thinking what not to spare,
And give out a glee.
My mind is confused,
Amid of all the thoughts.
For what can be produced,
And what cannot?
My hand flows faster
As I write this line
Not minding which is brighter
Enough if it's mine.
The very first poem
I say with pride.
And I don't care if it's glum,
As the only thing I care is it's mine
and only mine.
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:p I wrote it when I was 14.