When we were young,
we explored the wonder of every rung,
life had just breathed and begun.
When we were young,
we climbed the rotting ladder,
the future, we hadn't fully gathered.
When we were young,
we wrote journal entries back and forth,
but as a homing pigeon, you headed North.
When we were young,
we sat on top of that wooden tower,
watching ocean in the night, above your ear rested a flower.
When we were young,
we were under iron thumbs,
less breath could truly, freely feed our lungs.
When we were young,
well, I crossed out the "When we were young," parts,
because we aren't young anymore and that smarts.
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.