Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2019
Wistful are the eyes of the elderly.
How long they've lived!
How little they've left.
How little they've done.
How long they've run.
Wishing not to die but one more day.
Praying to the sky and she will say,
Let me be a kid again, to run and play.
Society has run me ragged;
I'm scared that if I die too soon
I'll be forgotten by tomorrow's noon.
She cries and kneels softly
Like a feather she floats away.
CL Fjell
Written by
CL Fjell  21/M/Litlesotra
Please log in to view and add comments on poems