Young Writers Society

24/30


Change

I can't help but
miss you.

I see the way
you move
and hear how
you speak
and all I can do
is think
of how you used to be.

Still here,
but forever
gone.

25/30


Choices

A tiny flutter
in your gut
is the first step.
A physical,
real thing.

Then there's
an excitement
at the thought
of a simple
touch, hand holding,
arms brushing.

Devotion soon
follows with
mushy feelings
and sweet little
nothings.

Serious discussions
and playful banter
determine a path
for you to walk
together.

That is how it starts
but for it to last
you have to decide
each day
to start again.

A tiny flutter
in your gut,
just like
yesterday.

26/30


Old Soul

What does it mean
to have an old soul?
Because that is what
I've been called
so many times.

I think it means
to see the truth.
Get ride of all
the fluff
and find the heart.

I think it means
to enjoy simplicity.
To sit on the porch
drinking coffee
and being with
my family.

I think it means
to acknowledge
the beauty
and wonder
in everything.
Even the painful.

I think it means
to ask the right
questions,
to understand
the unspoken,
to immerse yourself
in the things
that really matter.

So, do I really have
an old soul?
Or is it simply
older than that
of my peers?

27/30


Ghosts

I can hear the echo
of laughter from long ago.

I can see the fallen bricks
of an old house I rather miss.

I can feel your fingerprints
on my character, my heart.

Do I believe in ghosts?
Why yes,
yes I do.

28/30


The Formal

The lighting is dim,
the color changing.
There are wooden walls
and white table cloths.

The music fills the room
not loud enough to hurt
but it thrums through me.

I dance alone
swishing back and forth,
weaving in circles.

All while you wander
aimlessly
around the edges.

29/30


The Goal

Learning to write
is like learning to see
the world in a different
hue.

It's seeing the light
reflected in the window
instead of seeing
a full moon.

It's seeing a burnt
little sock, laying in the street
rather than the
fire that left it there.

It's seeing a glimmer
of something in his eyes
instead of the scars
that put it there.

Poetry is in taking
something big
and condensing it to
its core.

30/30


Dancing

From the twitch of your arm,
to the width of your steps,
from where your eyes wander,
to how you follow the beat,
dancing tells all.