POSTED 06/23/2018 12:58
Preoccupied and always occupied with devices
but what is untouched remains that way
The thought, dreams and hopes lie there unharnessed.
Soon enough there'll be no time left.
Piles and heaps of dead dreams which
cannot and will never again be achieved
make this place uncolorful not that
it's impossible but because the time for it has gone
I'm brave and untouched but one thing
takes me off guard;
some other poet, a Romanist maybe
might think it's love per say,
but no, I say no, but time really.
With its tick comes depression,
its tock brings emotional breakdown
and at midnight, the alarm rings
and the clouds turn away navy blue.
At the realization that all the years of
your youth had gone,
then one strand of your lovely golden
brown hair turns grey
The thunders of bewilderment strikes
the lightning of wasted years flashes
and the heavens open its mouth just
as your eyes shut and rivers of regret
flow down your aged cheeks!
And you keep on living with the heaviest weight;
the tons of untouched hearts,
unsaved lives fall on the shoulders of your heart.
You face your greatest fear,
going down memory lane,
You wonder how it didn't occur
to you when you were still blossoming
in your youthfulness,
How you kept on pushing it away;
that thought that refused to let you be,
but when you completely blocked it out
it left you reluctantly, and you wallowed
away the little time left, in search of pleasure
and little things that seemed to matter at that time.
With your heart bleeding out scarlet blood,
The rest of your years are spent feeling that
you have failed yourself and humanity!
And on that funeral day,
family and friends come around and mourn your demise;
sermons of good life you lived but you're up
there looking down on all the lies
You bow your Grey hair and heavy heart and
weep for wasted stay on earth!
Do you love this poem? Let your friends know about it