it was mid winter,
thick ice sheets, coffee and blankets.
envelopes of snow, in town.
the choirs of yonder, melodious,
like the chiming of the ecstasy clock.
over gazed travesty, another letter came,
one thought to be of reminisce.
hard paper, wriggled edges and a si gleam word that read 'SOUL.'
astonished and shocked, were few,
of expressions, that too in the cusp of chill of the fog, cutting through hedges and shops.
but in there was the reflection,
like a mirror,
but much clearer.
a rarity of clearness, like stillw water,
shining upon the crescent glow,
of light in dawn.
as far as things went,
everybody astonished, looked harder,
but found nothing else.
then the boy, looked once,
and saw his face against it.
but said "it's us, our very soul.:
it is our choice what we do with,
our soul and our existence.
good or bad,
it'll live with us,
for the rest of our lives.
Another part coming soon.........
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fangs of youth
Poetryteenage is where it all begins. love, lust, desires, trust, honesty, and every little thing considered unimportant for us before. because now, the fangs shall arise. it maybe good or bad, but it all depends on the reader, because the poems, will ta...
