I wrote madly in youth.
I wrote because I had so much to see
and so much to say.
I had to share what I saw in the oranges of the desert nights,
the way the drugs made my mind sting,
and the pretty girls spun in the youth and dust --
this dream, everything we’d found,
it was ours,
and would be forever--
it was easy then,
the pen and the paper were two cans on a string to the stars,
and I wrote what they told me
in all the colors they said--
but it’s different now,
the purples aren’t as purple,
the drugs don’t sting,
and the girls dance far away
as if ghosts/shadows of some abandoned town
the string to the stars has worn loose,
and we the children
look at the stars less,
for they lied to us,
they broke their promise---
we did not live forever.
xx Atticus
@atticuspoetry )
www.atticuspoetry.com)
Other poems read today:
- "Indian summer" by Dorothy Parker
- "My Lost Youth" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
