Feb 2016
I’m a riddle in nine syllables,
A building with so many levels,
With two big windows, hiding secrets.
Adequate, presentable outside,
Labyrinthine, ramshackle inside.
Everyone becomes disillusioned.
Who’ll fix this piece of architecture?
Who will tend it, patch it up, love it?
Maybe someday, someone will. Who knows?
A building with so many levels,
With two big windows, hiding secrets.
Adequate, presentable outside,
Labyrinthine, ramshackle inside.
Everyone becomes disillusioned.
Who’ll fix this piece of architecture?
Who will tend it, patch it up, love it?
Maybe someday, someone will. Who knows?
This is a poem I wrote last year, freshman year, for an English assignment. It's not one of my best, but I just thought I'd share it.
