We are young men buried in books
Shoveling words every day
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Ours minds drained deep in the pools
Of knowledge. So they say
We are young men buried in books.

We find ourselves caught in hooks
Of wisdom seekers shall we pray?
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Exhausted, some will turn into crooks
While we proudly remain grey
We are young men buried in books.

We bear fruit of hope from the roots
Of pain so follow the rules we lay
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Are we zombies in schools?
In our paths we never stray.
We are young men buried in books
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

The spark of passion ignites the heart, until it is engulfed in a conflagration of notions, as curiosity triumphs over caution.

The seed of wisdom, planted in fields of knowledge, is cultivated and refined in kingdoms of intellect to innovate speeches of freedom.

Blisters in sweaty palms, rubbing against the pen, as it drifts between the paths of future and past, where hope is met and joy is felt.

Consumed by epiphanies, the heart-beat is felt by trembling hands, squeezing the pen for inspiration, to bewilder imaginations, giving birth to new perceptions.

She said, "I can't swim"
With a voice so confident
The ocean believes
They're still best friends.

Its 12:46 and I'm wondering if she's the one you're staying up late for. Does she fill your stomach with butterflies, like I did? Does her name sound so sweet it melts in your mouth when you say it? Does she graze your skin with her fingertips, like I did? Does the taste of her mouth get you drunk? Does she stare into your green eyes and melt into them, like I did? Does she point out when your lower lip trembles? Does she curl her fingers into yours, like I did? Do they fit just as perfectly? Does she kiss you deeply in the morning as she does in the night, like I did? Do her hips fit perfectly in your hands? Does she tell you how much you mean to her, like I did? Do you hesitate before saying it back? Does she smile at you from a distance, like I did? Does she bring you laughter even when she's gone? Does she love you as much as I did? Do you love her as you loved me?
Or did you never love me to begin with?...

Her mind was
a storm
her thoughts were
a hurricane
her eyes were sad
her smile was fading
her heard was breaking
but she lived
she was lost
in her own mind
her own world
she drank herself
into oblivion
she smoked
partied
surrounded herself
with people
and still she
felt empty
with no cure
but death.