Rosalie Skinner’s Stories

Poetry Slam

I hadn’t been to a Poetry Slam, until the other night.

Artists bravely seeking fame without a hint of fright

With bared souls, hearts on sleeve,

No props, costumes or pages to read

They shared their art. And I believed.

A silent audience decreed

Their worth in numbers; one to ten.

I questioned justice and motivation but then

On leaving the venue later that evening

The words in my head took on a new meaning

Common thoughts began to rhyme and ordinary words beat in time.

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