I never want to grow old.
This world holds secrets I'm bound to discover,
and I've got countless books to read,
but think of it like this:
If I were to die at let's say, 18, the world wouldn't have killed my spirit as much.
Because the way I see it, the older you get,
the more life drains out of you.
You make less passionate poems,
and dull canvas replaces once vibrant sunsets.
Magic will drain from me,
and this world will suck every living thing out of you.
Your spirit,
your beauty,
you mind,
your creativity.
And eventually, everything will be just gray.
I don't want to grow old.
YOU ARE READING
the city
Poetryand no matter how much you water scorched grass and withering weeds, you will never make a garden re-grow -M.R c.2016
