By Amberly A. M. Oosthuizen
When I was young
Children would play with me.
The sky was blue
and my heart was still on my sleeve...
When I was young,
I was carefree,
I pushed boundaries,
I was filled with defiance...
When I was old,
My heart had shattered,
The air was cold
Nothing really mattered
and the clouds were grey...
When I was old
My joints would creek
I would stare at the walls
in sombre silence...
When I reached the end,
My teeth chattered
My joints needed oiling
and I couldn't speak...
When I reached the end,
The houses shook
The tea was bitter
and I was hollow
Now I am dead
and my life was wasted...
"Oh the ironic melancholy"
© Amberly A. M.Oosthuizen 2014
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