Redcurtainpoetry
A Young Cry
My Passion is Gone
And I’m only nineteen
Sometimes it returns
But only the memories
The thoughts I’ve wasted
For men such as yourself
The love I’ve tasted
No good for me to dwell
Dwell I shall not do
Ever since I met you
My Passion is Gone
And I’m only nineteen
I wish I could paint a picture
Of all my desires
For if had a picture,
I could at least have
Something to hold on to
But everything is fleeting,
It seems, I have no command
Of such things that fly by me
My life is chaotic
And yet, so very well planned
I blindly walk through