New Passion

A memory of budding passion when he was young that was always thrust upon him like a curse.

It was a time of education,

and love was named a fascination.

Just couldn't tell between joy and passion.

I don't like to say I found her there.

 

She wasn't fair to be called an angel.

She wasn't old enough to judge me.

I couldn't be there when I needed her more,

wildly wanted to touch and see.

 

How bad was I, a sinner,

I hate to say, then I craved for her.

It was a priceless something they drained from me

and somewhere, she is still a friend to be.

Reviews

[Jennifer Ryan]

Nicely done. When we are young it is often said to us that our feelings aren't real simply because of our age. I have to say I couldn't disagree more. They are real its just they are so new they are more intense. As we get older we become desensitized if you will and can distinguish between lust and love.

Great poem.