What is simple in the midst of the night,
Is never easy by sunrise.
Doesn’t that question your heart to know;
Whether the sun is capable of bleaching you clear of all passion?
This was supposed to be a poem;
But I don’t feel so good anymore.
This was supposed to be a “Dear Diary” entry;
But there is nothing dear about this entry
This was supposed to be a rationale about love;
But there is nothing rational about love.
This was supposed to be a motivational speech;
But the audience of my surroundings portray an ambiance of apathy.
This was supposed to be a farewell letter;
But my blood-pumping ***** cannot orchestrate a declaration of adieu.
This was supposed to be a livid rant;
But I cannot pinpoint the suitable syllables that have the strength to impale you such as a bullet.
This was supposed to be a love letter;
But I am not capable of fabricating words to exhilarate your mortalness.
This was supposed to be a poem;
But instead, it is a 3:48am compilation of my most vulnerable thoughts.
And I question;
At what age did I lose my compassion?
When did my smile become so brittle?
When did I become so bitter…?
So brash?
-Z.H.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
What is simple in the midst of the night,
Is never easy by sunrise.
Doesn’t that question your heart to know;
Whether the sun is capable of bleaching you clear of all passion?
This was supposed to be a poem;
But I don’t feel so good anymore.
This was supposed to be a “Dear Diary” entry;
But there is nothing dear about this entry
This was supposed to be a rationale about love;
But there is nothing rational about love.
This was supposed to be a motivational speech;
But the audience of my surroundings portray an ambiance of apathy.
This was supposed to be a farewell letter;
But my blood-pumping ***** cannot orchestrate a declaration of adieu.
This was supposed to be a livid rant;
But I cannot pinpoint the suitable syllables that have the strength to impale you such as a bullet.
This was supposed to be a love letter;
But I am not capable of fabricating words to exhilarate your mortalness.
This was supposed to be a poem;
But instead, it is a 3:48am compilation of my most vulnerable thoughts.
And I question;
At what age did I lose my compassion?
When did my smile become so brittle?
When did I become so bitter…?
So brash?
-Z.H.
