To grow up, though seeming so eloquent
Is quite such a terrifying thing to
See; nothing I say will be adequent
So I’ll have to be the trees and stars too
The only way that my soul will ever
Rest; is to give myself peace, with a breath
If I can then make my soul an ember
I maybe then, could find the peace with death
My soul will move on, catch a job every
Where, the Gods will praise every effort I
Had ever shown, a kiss too feathery
Will carress my soul, and shall cleanse my eye
Perhaps this is why, they say I’m a sink
I always look too ahead, overthink
