The hard, solid ground,
of the boulders near the beach,
shining in the light.
The smell of the sand,
In the vast yellow desert,
Looks kind of bitter.
The sound of the sea,
In a seashell it is resting,
Stuck in the wet sand.
Swimming in the pool,
you find liquid touch your tongue,
you return for air.
With sunglasses on,
You stare up into the skies,
At the blazing ball.
Frosty bare tree stare, knowing no-one will play there, slowly dying off. The cold months are gone, aromas of daisies scent, will tickle your nose. The days are longer, children playing everywhere, the sun burns the skin. Falling leaves are here, school is starting today, the sun is hiding. This is soon the end, staying with family, will bring lots of cheer.
Autumn time is here lots of happy cheer. Kids all around jumping up and down. Mothers trying to call them kids just ingnoring them. Leaves of trees are falling of because the breeze.
The abandoned bike,
leaned as lifeless as a dead pike,
Its rusty gears won’t spin,
without making a din.
It has had happier days,
when the wind would sway,
Its aluminium chassis has rusted,
and its tyres have busted.
The bike’s handlebars have been bent,
and in the seat there is a dent,
The torch’s light doesn’t show,
the bike is a great place for weeds to grow.
This bike is mine.
My trusty old pal suffers in hazardous weather as the chains start to rot to a crisp like a burnt chocolate cookie.
The handles spread apart becoming a hollow home for wolf spiders hiding from the cold.
The cogs creak like an old door… just because, I haven’t pedaled in years.
My broken down old friend leans against the seasoned oak tree, waiting for his pedals to be spun about.
The chains dangle around as the wind blows and go’s about.
The cogs click a beat which causes the pot, sat on the handle bars, to convulse.
The ancient, dull vehicle leaned on the bare trunk of the willow tree. The filthy, rigid wheels stood still like statues stuck in British Museum. The decayed, fossilized handle bars scraped the bark of the old tree. The rusty bicycle looked like it hadn’t been disturbed from it’s slumber in centuries.
Polar bears with fur of white,
Are having to go away.
Delicate slippy icebergs are melting,
Humans are getting their way.
Strong gales of wind blow loudly at the unfortunate yew trees,
happiness beams as bright rays of sunshine beams on Earth,
anger rages like a bull chasing the colour red.
Oxygen floats around softly whilst keeping life alive,
laughter touches people and helps make their day,
proudness stands tall superior as everything else watches in awe.
Sadness sobs in the corner of the school building as he gets bullied,
revenge teams up with anger to teach people a lesson,
Those are the invisible things.
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