I feel lonesome at seventeen,
To think too much of the giddy past
During golden times of juggling laughs in
Full classrooms and challenge food for thought
Where disappointment lays flat and thin, we wait
In angst, in delight, for our charging marks,
But that was then, now this is life.
The damning weight and press of the times,
Where treasured mind lacks youthful extempore,
We write on the brief paper, hoping
The ink will write us golden words & slow the beat,
We will sooner fail than to reach the top
We hope to Triumph- breed in our scratching minds!
Until its over, the humming invite to the world ticks
After, we decide to leave to the frolicsome universities,
Ten thousand men and women sit,
Gaze at the attended paper, silenced to daydream
And professors Bleed the last strain of knowledge,
Youth is spectre and her song will best be on her way,
To a gushing point of cherished memories, and
conquests of teen-humour, loved tenderly.