Young love is a tree, bound to the seasons, fickle and a victim of circumstance. A veritable creature of summer. The season where all praise Its beauty and find comfort in its shade. Losing themselves in it, finding bliss as they hide from harsh sun of time in that shallow shade of youth... Autumn comes and the strains start to show, its leaves, desperate and dying try to impress with colors of an aging passion. Then winter speaks a long epitaph...Her breath, carrys a mournful wind like a plague. Killing the joy and vanity in that tree, leaving it naked and bare.. Only the bones are left, a seasoned trunk impervious to pain, with only droplets of summers thoughts to live on. Love, oh the youthful terror that resonates when my lips pronounce it.. Yes, young love is sovereign lord in summer. Then left crown-less when winter marches.
Posted on: Wed, 29 Jan 2014 07:51:27 +0000