Rolling waves of oppression,
it is a magnet -- my obsession,
Is it the source of my depression.
Have you ever seen the sea?
The blue waves of water I once looked upon with glee.
But now they reflect my inner turmoil, the sadness inside of me.
The foreboding skies are dark.
The raging tempest is here, making upon the land its mark.
And I stay silent. Waiting. Listening. Hark.
Is this the source of my rage?
The winds of time, moving on to the next page.
Is this the violent storm coming to release me from my cage?
--
We have this thing in English/Language Arts where once a week we just write for 10 minutes straight. This time the teacher gave us a sort of subject or way to start -- we could write anything, but it had to be in the form of a poem. At the time when I wrote this, I was sort of angry. However, now that I look back at this piece, I sort of do like it. Not entirely sure why though. And the title... kind of last-minute.
