Mine & My Friends' Quotes

Poem

I wrote a poem in English today.
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Those that are lonely hold the tall, broken boulders of our lives. They begin good, dancing in fields papered with lilacs, feeling warmth from the sun. Then, the wrong, nervous, empty people of the world come in and drain their happiness as if they were a leaky faucet on a well. The good become scarce, there are few still sealed away from cluttered thoughts and pain. Tey are free from the storm that closes their minds, bending them into a narrow gravel road. They become God-fearing, abandoned, and rusty. They are strewn about the weed-choked yard that was once a beautiful field full of lilacs, now a dusty, barren land reduced in size. They abandon the sand box made from a text to tire that once symbolized joy, and become dirty and dusty like the oilcloth rags in the window frames. They slowly and hastily lose themselves in an attempt to be a single rose in the middle of a thorn bush. But what they don't realize is, they became the thorn while thinking about becoming a rose.