My hands shiver the cold gets into me
And I see him
Standing tall and calm
Composed by his own pride
A fondless desire to offer it up
To be the center of attention for something great
But it's not that popular
His eyes tell the tales of his life
These words act like a barrier
He wanders for escape
Like a caged bird he's trapped by tradition
Longing to return to his former being
Her eyes trickle past him
To his senior
Who questions her about his being
He isn't amused or attentive
She smiled he leaves nonchalantly
Excitement bubbles within her
For there is a boy
A beautiful boy
With brown hair
And dark eyes
And maybe he could be it
He walks down the aisle with offering in hand
She walks down with candles
God watches them
In that moment they were to be
Happier
YOU ARE READING
Midnight Music
PoetryBeing a poet or even a writer is a means of survival and a therapeutic process of self-expression. This is a compilation that identifies the growth of individuals which showcases the complexities of life, especially that of a teenager. The protagoni...
