perhaps once enough time passes
all 'this' will somehow make sense
for now I'll be content
in showing no contempt
towards the situation I'm in

let this poem be a testimony
to the foolishness of youth
star painted eyes constantly searching
for some hidden truth
itching to be found
as chaos
reigns all around

the mind grows weary
for the flesh is weak
a hundred ways to seek
some hidden solution as to
how to speak

An ancient fire ready  to ignite
as I watch myself, a fool
Driven by passion I burn
"It's my turn, it's my turn...!"