Cool it Schools

Clouds
They came
with thunderous footsteps, a stampede of followers.

They came,
a breath of destruction.

They came.
They who melted my cousins and crushed
the only things that stood proud.

Their breath a catastrophe
in its own right frustrated,
swaying in their stale anger.

Their rape of my brothers, bringing famine to my sisters,
death and impotence.

They came.
I am insignificant now, I feel cold.

As I start to fade I could blame them, but I point my finger at you.

You,
who caused that wind that means I am here.

Angry.
by James Price. year 10

An Oak Tree
The oak trees falling one by one,
rotting back to nature.
Back to nothing but soil,
nothing but an empty hole.

To be the last tree standing upright and strong,
to show the building site they mean nothing to me,
to live through storms and all the destruction.

To stand firm and almighty and powerful,
to establish the roots in the rock mass,
to be the one and only triumphant tree.

Where will life be without me,
an innocent oak tree.
An empty world with no wind to blow my leaves
For I am thunderous but yet so different

An insignificant fresh refresher,
to feel the breath of life.
I want to be felt, lived and loved.
I’m full of hope yet anger of when I’m no more.

You cannot see what this world will be,
when you are the last human being.

By Boaz Quartey