Flowers die when winter comes,
Stems curling and wilting into nothing
But shriveled masses that exist,
Yet don't, as if they are bluffing.
Many flames have snuffed out these past years;
Friendships have died and dissipated
Like those flowers in winter,
Whose deaths were fated.
The landscape of my life,
Was torn apart at the base by death
That completely reshaped the environment
Like winter's icy breath.
Nostalgia tears at me on these quiet days,
When there is not an overload of work;
The quiet seems to encourage
Nostalgic memories to lurk.
There is no reigning them back in,
Though, the moments that have fallen apart
Like chalk on sidewalk,
Children's favorite art.
I am young, but my youth
Left a long time ago;
I thought it was a river
That would steadily flow.
I have missed out on so much,
I claw at these wishes as time goes on;
For my age is accumulating,
And "young" is only a temporary term to don.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
Flowers die when winter comes,
Stems curling and wilting into nothing
But shriveled masses that exist,
Yet don't, as if they are bluffing.
Many flames have snuffed out these past years;
Friendships have died and dissipated
Like those flowers in winter,
Whose deaths were fated.
The landscape of my life,
Was torn apart at the base by death
That completely reshaped the environment
Like winter's icy breath.
Nostalgia tears at me on these quiet days,
When there is not an overload of work;
The quiet seems to encourage
Nostalgic memories to lurk.
There is no reigning them back in,
Though, the moments that have fallen apart
Like chalk on sidewalk,
Children's favorite art.
I am young, but my youth
Left a long time ago;
I thought it was a river
That would steadily flow.
I have missed out on so much,
I claw at these wishes as time goes on;
For my age is accumulating,
And "young" is only a temporary term to don.
