Five Poems

Standing Against the Tyrants of Darkness
by Max Wang 
From an age of information to an age of misinformation,
We see our world shatter with deceit.
O’ politicians of our age, why dishonour the truth,
When truth is all we have at the end of democracy.
Why give in to madness, and the thirst for power,
When there are consequences of thy words.
Thou standeth above the grounds of liberty,
Yet thou transformeth it into a graveyard of justice.
 
Wake up! Children of our time,
Do not fall into the trap of endless fabrication.
Wake up! Children of our time,
Do not give in to the tyrants of this world.
Strike with logic and reason, 
The only tools we have left. 
I warn thee,
About the dangers lurking under the sea of lies.
Do not be sucked into the whirlpool of propaganda,
Do not be drowned by an ocean of deception.
When it is too late, we will have no hope of escaping.
 
I present this poem with an urgent message. 
Without action democracy will soon lie in the dust. 
I write this poem, out of utmost necessity,
Before the Tyrants of darkness devour us.
 
 

 Becoming
By: Max Wang 
An egg as white as snow, cracks
as the first sign of spring arises.
I come to this world, different.
 
Feathers as dark as ink, laughed at
by those of my kind, I wander away, 
only to uncover more loneliness.
 
Alone, in the wild. Nothing 
cares to even glance at me.
Water flows by, in such hurry.
 
Snows falls. The ground is covered in a white carpet.
Frost like a dagger, digging through my gray features.
What do I have to hope for? Nothing.
 
The first greens, grow up from the dirt.
Swans, feathers as white as snow. Curiously,
I step close, only to see, I have become one of them.
 
 Ode to a Tree
By: Max Wang 
Under the shade
of an old tree,
I find a place,
to rest, and enjoy.
The tree stands tall,
with leaves green as emerald.
It fills the streets
with fresh air.
I climb onto its branches.
It lets me see,
far, far away.
When rain falls,
the tree stands strong
and protects me.
I hear rain,
hitting the leaves
and making a tinkling sound.
I touch its brown trunk.
Its rough skin,
protects it well.
When fall comes,
the leaves become
as red as flames,
making a carpet.
I walk on it.
It makes a crisp sound.
When winter comes, 
its leaves fall down,
I shall not be worried.
They always grow back.
 
 My Homeland
By: Max Wang
 With lips red as a rose,
my face pale, like a ghost,
I study, in the mountains, where
bitter frost digs through my skin.
 
I sit, by the window, wondering,
why am I here? To learn,
to find a better life, miles
from where I belong? Never, never
will I ever leave my home.
 
Craggy hills, with the color of
my dress, lie nearby. A river,
flowing slowly down behind me, steep 
Mountains afar, shall I never forget.
 
I wish to leave this school.
To spend time, to lie
in the hills. Not having to
worry, not about anything, lying still.
 
The bell rings, a new class
starts. And I too, rushing from
class to class, thinking, what will
happen, when I leave my homeland?
 
 
 
 Time Flows By
By: Max Wang 
We always remember at the final hour,
time runs by, and soon too late.
Without time, we have no more power.
 
We wait, until the bell rings on the tower,
the clock, slowly, begins to rotate.
We always remember at the final hour.
 
We don’t care, until the food gets sour,
the cost of what we lost, is far too great.
Without time, we have no more power.
 
We wonder, where is the mower,
as the grass grows, at a rapid rate.
We always remember at the final hour.
 
We realize, only when no more flowers grow,
the vast amount of damage that was created.
Without time, we have no more power.
 
When it is time, it will be our
job, to be awake before the final gate.
We always remember at the final hour,
without time, we have no more power.