Renounced off the flowing river,
has it always been the quaver?
Of the child behind the crumbled closet,
deluded is whose mind lying upset.
Always wanting to be there,
emotions tending to bloom where.
Sometimes to please and sometimes be pleased,
knowing that the imaginations won’t be ceased.
Like the ocean standing still,
wished to be someone’s ray of hope downhill.
Not knowing the way how the pages would turn,
leaving scars deeper than the actual burn.
Bleeding in his heart and wanting to cry,
but no options seem left to try.
It won’t be so easy fixing the strings,
and this is what the life ever brings.
Yet forged someday, valorous would he stand to fight,
bearing the loads of all his fear and the fright.
He would win, he already knows this somehow.
Now that he has decided, the world shall witness his might.
“Every battle is won before it’s ever fought.”