Nineteen Years Old
Nineteen years I breathed in delight
Embraced by sorrow, embraced by heartache
They never call me mature
Because I stay curled up crying for no reason
In the corner of the room in one small beam
And I grumbled to my feet
And cussing at the knuckles
I don't know why I'm crying
On the day when everyone flattering me congratulated me, applauded
Perhaps because of the burden of the heart
But the sky does not see me suffering
And the engines kept roaring
Nineteen years I saw a good world
But covered viciously
My grief has dried up
Because I cry for no reason
My shadows merge with the light
And the base of my lips paint happiness
I will be mature, tomorrow
For I have pitied the soul and tears
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The First Knight [END]
PoetryThe past that is permeated in the recesses of the soul need not be forgotten. Remember and carve beautifully with the dust of the flying fire. Love may come, but all you know is pain. Your little soul is incapable of accepting the reality that is in...
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