"sainty" poems
Fragments of empty dreams meant he-
Was crumbling inside, but not accidently.
Hurt severely, but he still trusts plenty.
"Alas!" The onlookers say. "He's just 20."
So naïve, he perceives devils as sainty;
A fighter of fate that lost permanently;
He battled on though hoping just faintly.
He's young; in his prime of times. Just 20.
"He's more average than not, apparently."
They suppose, "In the moment when he-
Speaks swift like a ride in a new Bentley-
He attempts to conceal that he's just 20."
But as my fingers tap these keys gently-
I hope I'm inadequate but not evidently;
That you don't smirk and ask, 'Ain't he?'
Cuz deep inside I am more than just 20.
Keep Smiling
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC