young man, you owe me your innocence

forget the dull waving of the wisteria vine. 

you look at me, 


crying for the reason of man. 

you hit me. why?


young god, lay down the swords and let lie

this inconstant throbbing of insistence. 

you were sure it happened,


but let it slip to the tongue of superior. 

you convinced me. 


is the rage a product of mine own? 

are my fingers translucent? the world loves its own haziness 

and the transience of thought brings no comfort to me. am i dying?


young love, you owe me your compassion

for i have thrice million excuses and pains 

i lied to you, constantly,


and now you must live alone. 

you left me. why?


Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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