The Life in Rhymes of an Angsty Teenager

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The Moon

As the tears roll down my face and land softly on my chest,

I look up at the sky and notice the moon; oh what a pretty white crest.

It is so mysterious and wondrous, this little white moon.

Then suddenly off in the distance I hear the sad song of one lonely loon.

I feel much sympathy for the sullen loon but yet I do not feel alone.

For the bright little moon sheds light on a path to guide me home.

While I gaze up at the moon and its wide expanse of light,

it seems to me as though a higher power has twisted it like a light bulb into the night.

I believe as I weep that I must be daft,

to cry over something that has already past.

Time, I think, cannot heal all wounds.

If it could then why is it that the little crescent is still not a full circle, the moon?

I began to remember those moments, that is why I have been crying, for they were the best.

Since they are old and brittle, I think that they should be laid down and put to rest.

And maybe they will rest in peace?

Could it be a possibility that they will in time flourish and grow into weeping willow trees?

Then I would not be the only soul to cry.

For every other soul will have said their goodbyes.

So now I will take our happy memories and moments and bury them in the ground.

They will be good for two other lost and in-love souls once they are found.

Because our time has come and left and is now forever past;

So lest we forget and forgive for once and at last.

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