English poem!! Help!!

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What a World

What kind of world is this
This world I call my own
Were even a young child
Is afraid of going home
A world in which a man
Will take innocence from a child
Now their lives are lived in fear
The memories going wild
What kind of world is this
This world I call my own
Where you'll only be accepted
If your a f***ing clone
A world so full of s***
A world so full of lies
Can you spot the liars?
Can you see it in their eyes?
A world where self expression
Is pushed and made to fall
Despised and destroyed
To boost the egos of them all
A world where daddys hit
A world where mommys scream
Both killing their children
Killing their hopes killing their dreams
A world that makes you crazy
But does that make me insane?
A world thats without morals
A world thats without shame
A world that seems so dark
A world that seems so cold
A world that kills the young
A world that scars the old
A world that kills our hopes
Shoots them out of the sky
A world that kills us all
And makes us want to die.


Jocelynn Halbauer

A world

A world of wars
A world of order
A world of regulations
A world of laws
A world of deaths

Let us count from one to seven
There is no anarchy even in heaven
The thought would be rather nice
For those who try, chaos is the price
A world of workers
A world of organisations
A world of racialism
A world of liars
A world of dictators
As the shadows of leafless dancing trees
Fill my white wall in the silence of the night
I think, I have fished in cold at fourteen degrees
But a world of troubled minds is a terrible plight
A world of warmth
A world of opinions
A world of rationality
A world of love
A world of difference

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven
Jointly we can create a world of heavens!

Genius





Genius, like gold and precious stones,

is chiefly prized because of its rarity.



Geniuses are people who dash of weird, wild,

incomprehensible poems with astonishing facility,

and get booming drunk and sleep in the gutter.



Genius elevates its possessor to ineffable spheres

far above the vulgar world and fills his soul

with regal contempt for the gross and sordid things of earth.



It is probably on account of this

that people who have genius

do not pay their board, as a general thing.



Geniuses are very singular.



If you see a young man who has frowsy hair

and distraught look, and affects eccentricity in dress,

you may set him down for a genius.



If he sings about the degeneracy of a world

which courts vulgar opulence

and neglects brains,

he is undoubtedly a genius.



If he is too proud to accept assistance,

and spurns it with a lordly air

at the very same time

that he knows he can't make a living to save his life,

he is most certainly a genius.



If he hangs on and sticks to poetry,

notwithstanding sawing wood comes handier to him,

he is a true genius.



If he throws away every opportunity in life

and crushes the affection and the patience of his friends

and then protests in sickly rhymes of his hard lot,

and finally persists,

in spite of the sound advice of persons who have got sense

but not any genius,

persists in going up some infamous back alley

dying in rags and dirt,

he is beyond all question a genius.



But above all things,

to deftly throw the incoherent ravings of insanity into verse

and then rush off and get booming drunk,

is the surest of all the different signs

of genius.



Mark Twain 參考資料 www.poemhunter.com