'I promise!'
That's what they scream.
Lined up on the windowsill still as night.
Each one shattered in their own special way.
Some mistakes,
Some man-made,
Some barely cracked,
Some as natural as the outside gale.
Waiting for the memories,
Waiting for the trigger
That brings back all those dreams,
Long gone...
Is the hope,
Long gone is the faith,
Long gone is the waiting
For the creaking of the gate.
No.
I'm not a slave to the promises,
Not to their games.
No. Not anymore.
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Welsh, 13 years old, music scholar, and just trying to improve!
People don't like specific's.
A poem I wrote for my English assessment; Thin black strands floating in the wind. A face. It turned and grinned. A stranger from an outpost, Pale and translucent as a ghost.
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