An essay

There are just some feelings you can't describe by words,
you know, like the one after saying, "I love you."
Or even more abstracted, the one after hearing, "I love you, too," as an answer.
In fact what more can you expect from youth?

I want to discuss with my friends what haven't been discussed.
And do things we could do together, forever.

All the same here and there,
we're all in shortage of time.
Like a sinking Titanic.

Keep whining, oh we shouldn't part yet.
We still have got so much to do together,

I tried to remember every little thing we had done,
because I thought nobody else would.
And so I cried a lot about losing them,
and learned to stop crying gradually.

And so I guess, we should move on.
We're all fragile inside.
But we keep being tough all the way.
Keep waiting until the day they're all reviewed.

Another Reflection

I'm left within confusion
born out of misinterpretation.

How can love alone be an ambition?
Don't try to tell me your version.

If I can have a vision,
and get out of this prison,

Then I'd take my very own poison,
which Romeo drank with all his passion.

I once asked the great baron,
what's the purpose of protection?

As I announce my prediction,
a war is just another fashion.

So for whatever my years land on,
sing, and the Christmas Tree's on.