FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE POEM: Sleep-Over
Late at night,
the crickets chirping,
we stay up in the tent,
talking of times past.
Then up in the loft,
we whisper jokes,
and it takes all our willpower,
just to control our laughter,
which is threatening to escape,
like a wild bull,
that plunges through, overturning everything.
Going for a walk,
the streets are empty and silent.
The moon shines down,
resting high above our heads,
like a watchful predator in the night.
The wind dances gently,
soft and light as a feather,
or like the leaves that fly and swirl,
in the autumn breeze.
Beneath our bare feet,
the pavement is cool,
and seemingly smooth,
though in reality rough.
The houses are dark,
the people asleep within.
No one to see us,
to join us in our journey.
Returning to the tent,
all of them asleep,
we try to do likewise.
But still the excitement lingers,
the feeling of satisfaction,
that inevitably comes,
with our midnight adventure.
And as usual, I clearly didn't understand the proper use of the comma.
Late at night,
the crickets chirping,
we stay up in the tent,
talking of times past.
Then up in the loft,
we whisper jokes,
and it takes all our willpower,
just to control our laughter,
which is threatening to escape,
like a wild bull,
that plunges through, overturning everything.
Going for a walk,
the streets are empty and silent.
The moon shines down,
resting high above our heads,
like a watchful predator in the night.
The wind dances gently,
soft and light as a feather,
or like the leaves that fly and swirl,
in the autumn breeze.
Beneath our bare feet,
the pavement is cool,
and seemingly smooth,
though in reality rough.
The houses are dark,
the people asleep within.
No one to see us,
to join us in our journey.
Returning to the tent,
all of them asleep,
we try to do likewise.
But still the excitement lingers,
the feeling of satisfaction,
that inevitably comes,
with our midnight adventure.
And as usual, I clearly didn't understand the proper use of the comma.
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