To: Mr. 13 year old 4th March 2021
From: Mr. 16 year old 1:13pm
Naive sir,
You thought the stem could never grow a rose.
Tore down your own Ozymandias;
who carries the ego now?
Since you moved on with your loathe.
They say you're a modest for finding home in others,
and I'm a narcissist for finding it within myself.
Just like that we grow up.
Even the innocents showed you their twisted knives. But my love,
you deserve better.
So when I'll walk up to the podium,
I'll see your face and call you out for better things...
in the name of survival,
for the sake of gratitude.
The storm is clearing up, no more fair weather friends remain.
No invitations from the school boys' lunch tables.
My child, lonely, you sit by the staircase, reading three books.
Someday, you shall write three of them yourself.
Trembling teenager, you colour yourself blue,
but I'll let it be reminded that painting is an art.
The 16 year old boy from Wattpad told me so.
It's going to be alright.
Gift me Canterbury bell,
so I'll know.
YOU ARE READING
Ethereal
PoetryEthereal is a poetry book. It is a poet's benevolent prattle about growing up, attaining maturity, embracing delicacy, moving on and it's what you find when you finish walking on your path of self discovery...for now.
