As my pen strides the paper
All my emotions rush through my fingers
I find it hard to suppress them
The feeling of nostalgia still lingers

From yore I know nothing
But anything besides this art
The tendency of melancholy
Continues to tear me apart

May it be problems or pleasure
I'm really not that sure
The art of poetry for me is nothing
But now this is what I long to procure

The girl I love shone a light for me
That poetry isn't just about rhymes
At present I am still loving it
Like a child who's writing for the first time