Introvert Poem by Becca Low

Since the moment words rang, different was I
While friends laughed; I cried
While friends played; I sighed
My imaginings to most were unrealistic
There meanings to me were fantastic
My pulse to run with them shown
And simple peace, I roam alone
Windy years, in a grave
All moments pictured to save
Following each gift and burden
The question which remains uncertain:
From the trench to the cave,
From the bridge to the tree,
From the moon greater in vain
Lost in ivory rain,
From the shivering quake
As it leaves my body to shake
From the lawyer and the liar,
And the crime that came to fire
(Where the Artic melts between the waters)
With no arc and protectors.