The youth is a liquefied mass, mottle
The most moldable phase of existence
We are poured into a cork less bottle
An exposed soul with its glass residence
...
A long dark road awaits you
And darkens with time
Much light may accompany you at the starting line
But as you run on it fades
...
A hard choice, A difficult situation
A fine line was drawn, so they say
then you find your reasoning mulling it over,
And your curiosity taking your better judgment
...
Irony Of Potted Wildflowers
The youth is a liquefied mass, mottle
The most moldable phase of existence
We are poured into a cork less bottle
An exposed soul with its glass residence
Sky is visible, from an absent lid
And the blinding sunlight is frightening
Ourselves, lost, unknowing our journeys mid
Or the day, salvation enlightening
One day we will be molded completely.
Solid forming, a lifetime of influence,
That shaped our being to grow so neatly.
But into what? We sit in ignorance
Grown in captivity, persona “ours”
Irony of potted wildflowers
One can never get away with tricking one's own morals, punishment will always be served, if not by man then by internal torture of the mind.