Better days

June 4, 2019

The early morning horizon greets the night sky

at this moment there is no distinction between night and day.

As the two bodies fight for power,

I lone to fly away.

There was a time when I promised it would never go away,

but instead I find it hard to remain where I stay.

Though I never wanted to leave,

There's a time where I have to go.

Though the night feels so young,

The morning has grown too old.

I can't say this was my choice,

I can't say this was a choice.

Thinking about the good old days,

Will only make me lose my voice.

There's a time and place for everything,

But there's never a place for everything.

Making the better days the old days,

wont make me fufill everything.

Thats why we have to grow old,

so we can see the better things.

Something wrong with this poem?

Replies are closed for this poem.

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.