Waves Rolling

Waves Rolling

Come November―
I will wear the fall
of varied colors.
Crunching on withered leaves
of your memories.

There was no birthday.
When the world sleeps―
I write a poem, looking
at the rubble of life.

Opinionated, the time
suck like a beast―
brazenly.

It was a stunning defeat
of the dawn, of the nonviolent
sprouts under the scorching sun
of the gaze.

Trying to assuage the
realization. I am no more me.

Reviews

[Poetic Beauty]

We change and evolve throughout life. Many go through very harsh and traumatic lives that forever changes them and looking back you no longer see the person you want to be or the person you once were.

This poem is sad and truthful about not knowing who you are anymore and not liking the difference. Well worded and well done.