Thursday, March 8, 2007

THE HOURS.

Age Sixteen.
Feverish study,
Last-minute cramming,
Unfulfillment,
Door-slamming.
Battlefield.
Final yield.

Age seventeen.
Sickness and joy,
Liquor and art,
Cigarette butts,
A new start.
Easy gain,
Sunshine and rain.

Age eighteen.
Apocalypse now.
The future, and how.

0 kindred spirits have swallowed my rambling: