The book thief was a liar
And a spy,the merits of mischief,
The true unstoppable
A tangle of knots, The ungifted,
Odd, weird, and little shadow
The book thief…
Had been inside out and back again
The book thief…
Is okay for now as he
Has half a chance left
To be true to himself
Poetry is…
A dream
How I express myself
Like onions and peaches, because I can hate it and love it
Poetry is…
Like jelly beans, because there are so many different types
The final door at the end of the hall of the soul
Like a blank canvas
Poetry is…
A type of tree with writing on it
Taking risks with words
Like a waterfall the ideas flow and ripple