I shan’t be yours to keep for all the days,
Yet we will not allow this fact to hold
Us back from nights of dang’rous run-aways
To rivers making feeble young feel bold.
None knows these moments though they are our best,
For journals are for those with shameless lives;
I tire of passing-halfway wicked tests
That won’t allow mistakes like love to thrive.
Now I begin to question all I’ve heard
About your kind and how we’re not the same,
To disregard the tales of hearts like birds
Caged under books of ancient writ and shame.
So time still has to tell who remains free
And who is here in youth’s captivity.