Poetry

The Eiffel Tower

When I arrived at my hotel, I could see it.

The Eiffel Tower.

I was sitting there, glaring at it.

This wasn't google.

I was an eyewitness.

I slowly maneuvered to the top,

Amazed at how high I was

Hundreds and hundreds of feet above the ground

The heat of the moment blazed past me

I was frightened, breathing heavily

My heart beating rapidly, and

An open side in the stairs.
One
One
Just one

Awkward movement would lead to a fall.

Thousands of feet down.

One left turn and I could see the apex.
So close

Bum
Bum
Bum
The sound of each step.
So close

The wind ripping the shirt off my back.

Ten more steps

Ten more

Just ten.

Slowly building confidence on each step,

finally

the glorious moment.

I was at the top.

For one hour

Bird’s eye view

The whole city placed
Beautifully
Before my eyes.

I walked down,

Taking in the incredible view.

When I reached the bottom,

I looked up slowly
One 
Last
Time.

And there it was; I could see it.

The Eiffel Tower.

REVISION:

I revised this piece because as I looked through all my pieces, I felt like this one had some mistakes. For one, I even messed up on a fact because I walked down stairs not an elevator. I also felt like I didn't do a good job with line breaks initially, and I wanted to really stress the anxiety of the moment because I truly felt like I was going to fall off. This poem is now more dramatic, and it reveals my true emotions during my trip up and down the Eiffel Tower than my original poem did.

***

Hate

An extreme debate

Now at a very high rate

By the time we cure it, it may be too late.

Throughout the world, people can be so begrudging.

And everything people do causes so much judging.

Every day, there are so many types of theft.

And suicide, there are people wishing for death.

Nothing, nothing should ever be hated

Because hate will one day be outdated.

There is way too much extreme anger,

Too much hate, putting the world in extreme danger.

But with the power of God above,

One day

The world will be filled with love.

***

Base Hit

The pitcher gets set,

he can’t touch me.

The ball is released,

fat as a ripe orange pumpkin.

I nail it,

the ball bouncing beautifully off of my bat.

I watch it sail over the center fielder's head,

as I sprint to first.

Each step arouses clouds of dirt to blur my vision,

But I keep sprinting, headed for two.

I see the ball land as I turn for second,

I dig my cleats fiercely into the ground.

Fifteen feet away from the base,

the outfielder rifles the ball in an attempt to get me out.

Two more quick steps,

and I lay out, head first.

I get a face full, chest full, body full of dirt,

as I feel the tag come on me, but not before I sneak my middle finger into the base.

I hear the ump scream, “Safe!”

and I slowly rise up, shaking the dirt off my body,

hoping the next batter can bring me home.