Shall it be tomorrow?
By Moira Rose
Tall, strong, and wide is he,
Creating an illusion in his design.
Up, down, parallel to every side.
Made of wood,
He stands on its own.
Beware of his teeth,
Yellow and small as they may be.
Infections closely follow.
My creator has many names,
But words I can not say.
Light brown skin,
And not a patch of gray in sight.
I wait until my death day comes.
Pounds of crushing force I must hold.
I pray that gravity just pulls lightly.
Every time my creator looks at me,
A since of pride glistens in her eye.
Soft gentle hands,
Connecting every peace with care.
Taking my last day as a challenge.
She hopes that I'll grow to be strong,
Strong as an iron bar hitting the ground.
But I know that I will survive that fatal day,
For I am as strong as her.
Every thing she creates has a bit of her inside,
I hope mine was strength.
Here it comes,
The clock is ticking,
I'm heading to the guilty,
But I will still remain strong to the last minuet.
Add a post on the coments things and guess what i am discribing... this can get varry interesting... if you guess 3 times ill tell you what it is, hehe...
Moira_Roes Community Member 
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