A Time Passed

My strength has left my arms as shallow whims
The void of my soul rejects the source of joy
Which I had treasured more than any gem
The freedom felt since childhood’s breezy days
A time I miss because I knew not hate
Upon myself inflicted such that now
I’ve bound my heart with ethereal shackles
Restraint that rivals the limits of will
False logic whittles motivation down
Before long I will shrivel into a prune
Who only saw itself as worthlessness
Frustration buried under countless flaws
And only ever cared about itself
A selfishness that lacked high esteem
Material possessions and ego
Succeeding nevertheless in ruination
Forgone hope that humans desperately need

Author’s Note I found an old book that had this poem written out when I was in high school. I can’t find the exact date, but I was probably a sophomore because that was the year we learned about Shakespeare and British Literature, and consequently about iambic pentameter.

I revised it a little back in April and added my thoughts about poetry, putting everything together in this post, but I decided to give this poem its own page. I really like it, angst-laden it may be. I’ll never go back in time and feel the same, so I’ll keep it as a reminder of what growing up means.