In youthful eyes black ink is like the sun,
Which eighteenth iron boils up from the thrill.
The pain deters, most fearful people run
Far out the door at the sound, like a drill.
To those who stay, a world awaits the skin.
From needles tip great flocks of fleeing sparrows
Or blooming lotus buds pop from a pin
near pounding hearts with bloody bows and arrows.
But as with age all things begin to fade
And wrinkled flowers lose their lustrous stain.
Those youthful roots lie hollowed and decayed
While life's ragrets seep into pores like rain.
This life's mistake you'll wear until the grave
Though beauty tempts, you'll soon become its slave.
YOU ARE READING
Fiddle Sticks and Random Bits
Short StoryMuch like a junk drawer, you never know what you will find when you open it up! A collection of short stories and poetry. There is something for everyone in here.
