Romantics Deaths

 

A life from a different window

I bleed wisdoms from my soul

Only becoming more unwilling,

I fight Romantic’s deaths

That tends to bloom in the spring

There are, no more leaves

For the wind to disturb

I can handle the hard felt rain

But the wind is too strong

 If you don’t know

 What right do you have to tell?

 

But I fight Romantic’s deaths

With ill-favors and childish dreams

No one, not you, can know of the passions,

The love that does exist

If I give in, if I can

Others may think of me; differently

I can’t grasp to get a hold

Of those burnings in my soul

So I beat my head for feelings

   If can’t tell

   What right do I have to know?