The Next Epoch

12 | Counter-18

Shakespeare once asked,
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"
Alas, this very day I found myself
Wondering the same

My dear, you are not the darling buds of May.

You are a mess of emotion --
There are always tear stains
On the pages of books
That line the shelves of your
Chaotic, mind-like home,
And there is always child-awe
Just behind your skeptic eyes.

Your existence is not unlike the Sun --
You turn your eyes upon the world
Your thoughts, they radiate high and clear
They blind and burn and set entire cities aflame
Even when nothing escapes your lips.

You are infuriating with your godlike glow
And by no means are you good at voicing words
Then again, I realize,
Neither am I.