An english class,
staring past,
the window to the void.
As the lesson goes,
his words flow,
endlessly into my soul.
My heart rate soars,
I'd do well to ignore,
the feelings that I have.
And the way he stands there,
nothing but a single hair,
could be called anything but suave.
His eager eyes,
whats hiding inside?
not a thought for me.
He's a prefessional,
trying to make his way in this world,
and I'm just another pupil.
So the storey goes,
a heart, left with holes,
affections never requited.
An intelligent, awe-inspiring, geltleman,
has been a woe-worthy fantasy,
Alas,
he'll never know what he does to me.
YOU ARE READING
A Glance Into My Mind
PoetryPoetry i have written at the proverbial best of times, and worst of times. This should give all who care a small but enticing look into the mind of one depressed and wistful sophmore.
